


Can't Figure You Out

by Crimson_Bebop



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, FYI I don't know shit about software design/engineering, Flirting, Infidelity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Sexting, Smut, Texting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 196,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Bebop/pseuds/Crimson_Bebop
Summary: Mickey meets a mysterious and frustrating redhead in the lobby of his workplace. He can't seem to get rid of him.And he doesn't know if he wants to.





	1. W.D.Y.W.F.M.?

Mickey's head was so foggy from sleep deprivation that he swore he might have fallen asleep standing in line at the coffee cart in the lobby of the building he worked in. It was the time of the morning when the lobby was overrun with people heading in, and on mornings like this Mickey swore that the buzz of their chatter and strides lulled him to sleep.

He moved forward a step as the person at the front of the line walked off with a donut already crammed half way in their mouth. Today was going to be a long day. Again. The whole week had been a series of long days.

His asshole boss had been breathing down his neck relentlessly about their current project. It almost made him miss his first job where he developed software for stupid apps. It paid a lot less, though, and he had intense student debt to demolish before he could think about working somewhere that didn't give him endless stress and exhaustion.

Thankfully, Mickey could write code in his sleep, because that's likely what he would be doing by the time lunch rolled around.

Mickey was next in line—could almost taste the delicious coffee already—when the barista called out, “Good morning, Ian! The usual?”

Mickey's brow furrowed. He was the next person in line, yet the barista was looking somewhere else, _addressing_ someone else. Was he fucking invisible? Or was he _actually sleeping_?

“Morning,” breathed a voice from behind Mickey, “Can you throw in a blueberry muffin today?”

“Right away!” returned the barista, immediately going to work on the order.

Mickey's brows shot up high. “The fuck, dude?”

The barista quickly sent him an apologetic look and called out a quick, “I'm so sorry, sir, I'll be right with you.”

“Sorry,” murmured the voice from behind him.

Mickey turned and felt his stomach immediately clench at the sight of the beautiful line-cutting asshole. He swallowed, glancing up at the stranger's beautiful fiery red hair, but refused to let his guard be shaken by the guy's attractiveness and fired back, “Yeah, I'm sure you are, firecrotch.”

He watched the guy's red brows raise in surprise and felt fully prepared to fight over the caffeine that was delayed for him.

“I didn't ask him to make it before yours,” defended the stranger, “They just do that sometimes.”

“Must be fuckin' nice. Did I miss the memo on when this building got a king?”

The man's lips rose into an intrigued smile. “I guess you did,” he returned without missing a beat.

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned back to the coffee cart.

“I can buy your coffee?” suggested the stranger, “To make up for your wait.”

“No thanks, Red. I'm used to spoiled assholes like you taking the first cut.”

“Excuse me?”

“Here you are, Sir!” beamed the barista, setting down the drink and muffin at the pick up spot.

The redheaded stranger glided by Mickey to scoop them up.

“Whatever that grumpy guy wants, you can put it on my account, alright?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” scoffed Mickey impulsively.

Both the stranger and the barista looked at him with wide eyes, as if he'd just slapped a baby.

“I don't need your handout,” added Mickey, moving forward to hopefully, finally, place his order.

“It's an apology, not a handout,” corrected the stranger, “And he's already been instructed, so deal with it. Maybe work on your gratitude, too, while you're at it.”

And with that the attractive redheaded jerk-wad breezed away.

“Are you trying to get fired?” questioned the barista with alarm.

“Whatever, fuck that guy,” returned Mickey with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Can I get a cafe mocha?”

“Ian's actually pretty nice, you know. He always tips me.”

“Good for you,” said Mickey with another roll of his eyes.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. If this would be going on this _Ian_ dude's account...

“Oh, hey, lemme get four bagels with everything, and a half dozen of those donuts.”

The barista looked even more worried for him, hesitating to even start collecting his order.

“You heard the man, he wants to make amends, so put it all on his account,” instructed Mickey with a mock smile. “Who the fuck even has an account at a coffee cart?”

The barista said nothing else to Mickey, as if too concerned about being an accomplice. Mickey snorted in amusement as the kid set everything down for pickup and called out to the next customer without even glancing at him again.

Mickey's coworkers certainly didn't have a problem with it as they dove into the goodies he brought up to them.

“What's the occasion?” asked Damon, his closest colleague.

“Some rich asshole paid for 'em.”

“Why?” questioned Amy through a mouth full of donut.

“Think I scared him,” shrugged Mickey.

“Well, good job,” chuckled Ellison, “You should do that more often.”

Mickey grimaced, “I better not see his ass again.”

 

*

 

The next morning Mickey spied that red hair the moment he walked into the building. He contemplated going straight upstairs and just drinking the always-burnt-coffee in the break room, but his body begged him for the good stuff. He made his way to the back of the line, not taking his eyes off of Ian for even a second.

He wanted to know what was so special about the guy, and how Mickey had never seen him before. It's pretty hard to miss him, considered Mickey with an uncontrollable appreciative eye.

“Oh, no, please, take care of them first,” he heard Ian say.

He was motioning to the two women in front of him and the barista nodded with a smile, greeting the women instead. Mickey smirked. At least he really did learn his lesson.

When he eventually watched Ian scoop up his drink Mickey quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and pretended to be typing out a text. It was all gibberish and he was probably moving his thumbs too quickly to be believable, but he did not stop.

“Look who it is.”

_Damnit._

Mickey raised his eyes to the top of his head to peer up at the bright and shiny smile waiting for him. “You got a pretty expensive coffee yesterday, huh?” he commented through his damn glowy grin.

Mickey scowled. “You actually checked how much I spent? The fuck?”

Ian shrugged smoothly and explained, “I was curious if you forced the barista to take your money or actually let me pay.”

Mickey nibbled his bottom lip for a moment as he moved up a few steps in line. Ian followed.

“Figured if you were buying I'd get breakfast for my coworkers, too.”

Surprisingly, his admission seemed to make Ian laugh softly.

“I'd probably do the same,” offered Ian, leaning in a bit closer like he was sharing a secret.

Mickey eyed him, hating the way his heart was racing over their proximity.

“I find that hard to believe,” murmured Mickey, forcing his gaze to detach from Ian's eyes.

“You think you've got me all figured out, huh?”

“Met enough people like you to get it,” grumbled Mickey, “Hell, the majority of the people in this place are the same.”

“Not me,” he heard Ian say as Mickey stepped up to the cart to place his order.

As Mickey paid for his coffee he glanced back to find the redhead still lingering. Once he had the hot drink in his hand he heard Ian ask, “Is that a cafe mocha?”

Mickey paused, looking Ian over with suspicion, and replied, “What's it to ya, Red?”

“Just curious,” Ian spoke into his own cup, turning to head towards the elevators.

Mickey hesitantly walked with him, the whole time wondering what the hell this all actually was. They neared security and joined the line of people being ushered through slowly. Mickey pulled out his ID badge and glanced at Ian, finding the man was wearing a steadfast smile.

“What do you want from me?” asked Mickey, well, more like _blurted it_.

“That's a strange question.”

“Just...You looking for a friend here, or something?”

Mickey had been in that exact position only two months ago, until he met Damon. Though, he certainly wasn't going to offer that information up to Ian.

“I just think you're interesting,” answered Ian casually, as if it didn't make Mickey's face heat up and prompt him to hide the evidence by looking away. “Kind of remind me of people I grew up with, I guess.”

“Where di—“

“Step through the machine,” called one of the security guards and Mickey realized he was holding up the line a bit. He quickly handed the guard his badge and went through, now totally unfazed by this routine. Once the badge was returned to him, he stuffed it back in his pocket and turned to wait for—

“Ian!” smiled the same security guard, “It's good to see you, sir. Come on through.”

Ian returned a friendly greeting as he walked through, without pulling out a badge, and without emptying whatever was in his pockets that made the machine beep loudly.

“You're fine,” waved the guard, “Have a nice day.”

Mickey's brows were in his hairline by the time Ian joined him again. He was so confused. If this dude was one of the assholes running the place he would know. Their pictures were plastered on every other hallway wall. He'd never even seen Ian before yesterday.

“What?” questioned Ian worriedly.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh! We haven't actually introduced ourselves, have we? I'm Ian.” Ian extended his hand and Mickey couldn't believe him. It had been nice chatting with him, but this whole thing was starting to irritate him again. The redhead was just _obviously_ playing dumb now, for whatever reason.

Mickey scoffed and turned to head to the elevators up ahead. Ian caught up quickly with the long legs he was blessed with.

“What's _your_ name?”

Mickey didn't answer and he didn't stop walking either. Not until Ian sighed and spoke, “I guess, I am looking for a friend, yeah. Can't stand half of the people that work in this part of the downtown. They're superficial and I feel like everyone wants something from me or is just judging every detail about me.”

Mickey understood that feeling all too well. He turned once more, eyeing the sincere look on Ian's face for a following moment. He released a quiet breath, wondering how this idiot was getting him to give in so much.

“My name's Mickey,” he caved, and hated how excited it made him feel to see Ian's green eyes light up like fireworks. “Just stop being fuckin' weird, okay?”

Ian laughed, looking down to the floor between them. “Sorry. I think I'm a little nervous that you won't like what you find.”

“Why? Friends come in all shapes and sizes.”

Ian's eyes shot back to Mickey, who could only stand the eye contact for a brief moment. “Friends, huh?”

“That's what the fuck you're buggin' me for, right? Your lonely ass needs a friend.”

Ian grinned widely and nodded. “It just hurts to admit it.”

Before either one of them could say anything else Ian's phone pinged loudly. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned down at whatever he found.

“I should really get to work.”

Mickey glanced from the elevators to Ian. What, they couldn't ride the same elevator?

“What department do you work in?” questioned Mickey confusedly.

Ian scratched at the back of his neck, wincing a bit, and Mickey raised a brow. What now?

“I, uh, don't work in the building, at all, actually. I work across the street.”

“Sorry, what?” Mickey was so surprised he even took a step back. “Okay, seriously, I'm confused. Whose dick did you suck to get your privileges here?”

Ian grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but ended up just laughing instead. Mickey was so annoyed that there was still something he was obviously missing. Maybe he was the son of one of the board members?

“You'll figure it out eventually,” answered Ian cryptically, with a suave wink that had Mickey simultaneously pulled in more and irritated. This weirdo was going to drive him insane and he needed to escape while he still could.

“Whatever, man, go fuck yourself and your dumb mystery,” returned Mickey with a roll of his eyes. He didn't look back once as he turned and headed for the elevators, but he felt Ian's eyes on him and heard the deep chuckle that floated after him.

 

 

*

 

The following morning Mickey froze and sighed exhaustively at the sight of Ian waiting just inside the door, a beautiful smile already bloomed just for him.

“Good morning!” sang Ian as he moved to Mickey, who walked right past him and headed for the coffee cart. “Oh, I already got your coffee for you. Here.”

Mickey stopped, looking to the redhead with disbelief as he casually held out the cup. Ian's expression melted into a pathetically hopeful one as he waited, with his arm stretched out. Mickey pressed his lips together and slowly grabbed the cup with a nod of his head.

Without a verbal thank you or any other words spoken Mickey turned and headed for security. Ian followed like an enthusiastic puppy.

“So, you're not going to talk to me anymore? I thought things were going well yesterday?”

Mickey sent him a scowl in response.

“I mean, I know I haven't exactly been forthcoming, but I did tell you that I'm scared you'll—“

“Look,” started Mickey, spinning to face Ian, “I'm so god damn tired I don't know how I'm going to survive the day. I don't have the energy for your weird shit today, okay?”

“Is work wearing you out?” asked Ian with what seemed genuine concern, entirely ignoring Mickey's attempt to dismiss him.

Mickey contemplated walking away, again, but instead he sipped the hot liquid of his gifted coffee and felt the scream of relief down to his bones.

“We're working on a big custom program, right now, and my dumbass boss decided to move up the deadline, so now we're all working overtime. Most of us are even working at home.”

Ian frowned, “That's not right. He should know your guys' limits. Even the best can only work so fast.”

“Like he gives a shit,” snorted Mickey, “That asshole had this company handed to him by his daddy, he's never had to work on our level.”

“You really don't like him, huh?” murmured Ian with a quick glance around to the crowds.

“No. He's an unsympathetic asswipe that treats us like machines and he's not even close to fuckin' grateful for how we keep that silver spoon in his mouth. Almost regretted taking this job after I met him the first time. He was rude as shit to me. Made me feel like trash about myself, ya know?”

“Sadly, I know exactly what you mean,” sighed Ian, prompting Mickey to look him over. How could _he_ ever feel like trash? He wondered. “Why did you stay?”

“The money,” chuckled Mickey, as if it wasn't so obvious, “It pays a hell of a lot better than my last job, man. I'm lucky I even got an interview here, but my last boss gave me a fuck of a recommendation.”

“You must be pretty damn good, huh?” smiled Ian.

Mickey looked away as a bashful smile tried to join his expression. “I should head upstairs.”

“Oh, okay,” said Ian quietly, taking a step back to give Mickey room for his departure.

“Alright,” nodded Mickey and let out a quick laugh. How had he broken Mickey down to have yet another conversation? This man had magic powers. “Well, see ya later. Thanks for only being a little weird today.”

Ian laughed, and Mickey loved the sound of it. He let his eyes wander Ian's face quickly, refusing to admit to himself that it was for his mind to conjure up later on when he would be trying to stay awake in his cubicle.

“Have a good day, Mick,” waved Ian before he turned to head back to the main doors.

Mickey watched him leave for a moment, feeling a lonely ache deep inside as he actively thought on how much he liked the way the redhead moved. He hadn't given Mickey any indication he was looking for anything other than friendship, but Mickey still wondered. And he hated how pathetic it made him feel. He had tried to silence those thoughts for the last two days. Because, there was no way Mickey would be lucky enough to find out Ian was gay, let alone interested in him.

And still, as Mickey made the journey upstairs to his cubicle, he analyzed every single look and word he could remember Ian giving him. When he concluded that he was just lonely and desperate he released a loud sigh and nearly slammed his coffee down on his desk.

“What's wrong with you already?” asked Damon, popping up to look over their divider at Mickey.

“Just need to get laid, but this soul-sucking place is taking all my energy to even jerk off, I swear.”

Damon laughed heartily, “Well, it's almost the weekend now. Rest up and Val and I will take ya out.”

“I don't need a babysitter to find a guy,” grumbled Mickey.

“I think Randy's free this weekend,” piped up Amy with an unnecessarily excited expression. “I could—“

“Jesus, how many times I gotta tell you your cousin isn't my type?”

“But, he's so nice,” whined Amy, “And he works a lot, too, so he doesn't have time to look, either!”

“Cool story,” returned Mickey with a roll of his eyes, “Still not my type. When I'm desperate enough, I'll let ya know, alright?”

“Morning,” spoke an un-enthused voice.

They all turned to find Ellison approaching. He waved a piece of paper in the air and said, “Memo just came out. We're going to work until six tonight.”

“Why?” spat Mickey while the others groaned in pain.

“Client requested more stuff they want,” shrugged Ellison in a way that said just how often they had, had to alter this damn program since they started because of the indecisive company that had hired them for the project.

“Mr. Woods could at least extend the deadline then,” chimed Amy tiredly, “Surely, _Future Sun_ would understand after asking for so many changes.”

“Yeah fuckin' right,” murmured Mickey while he turned back to boot up his computer.

Everyone seemed to take the hint as they quietly wandered away, except for Damon who leaned over the divider and poked him in the arm.

“What?”

“Memo burning party tomorrow night after work?”

Mickey smiled. That actually sounded amazing, right now.

“Cool if we meet at the Alibi? My brother wanted to get a drink, too.”

“More the merrier, man,” shrugged Damon before disappearing back over the divider.

“Good morning, everyone,” called out a familiar, unholy, voice that had Mickey sighing into his desk. “Can I get everyone's attention for just a moment?”

Mickey grabbed his coffee and stood, pulling in a breath of preparation.

John Woods stood just outside of his big office, where he always did when he made these announcements, with his hands in the pockets of his overly expensive suit. His smile was superficial as his gaze traveled across the sea of cubicles.

“I wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page with the latest update on _Future Sun_. They've requested changes to the format of the program. Please see the memo for a detailed description.”

Amy's hand shot up from the cubicle next to Mickey, and he nearly groaned as it drew the attention of their boss their way.

“Yes, Ms. Chen?”

“I was wondering if the deadline changed, since they asked us to alter the program, again?”

“I'm afraid not,” returned John, “But, we're the best for a reason, right? You guys can handle this.”

Mickey furrowed his brow uncontrollably and instantly regretted it as John's eyes locked onto him. This dude loved to give Mickey shit. He quickly schooled his expression into something passive and braced himself.

“If anyone has any reason why they can't handle the job assigned to them, you're welcome to come speak to me in my office about it.”

Mickey swallowed down his irritation and casually sipped from his coffee in a silent way of saying, _not me_.

“Let's work hard and get it done, people,” said John before turning back towards his office, ending his announcement over his shoulder with, “That'll be all.”

Mickey glanced over at Damon, who looked just as annoyed, before he dropped back into his office chair to start said work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite a bit written for this already, so I'll likely update quickly for a while :) Let me know what you think! This is my first AU and just a bit indulgent, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it:3  
> Warning: Rating may change to Explicit in later chapters.


	2. Deep Sea Divers on Another Man's Planet

Mickey took an extra long drag from his cigarette as he glanced up and down the empty alley behind the Alibi. Damon unfolded the memo he had taken from the office the day before and held it up in the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Damon in a clear announcer's voice, “We are here—“

“Dumbass, we're the only ones here,” interrupted Mickey.

Damon cleared his throat loudly and continued, “We are here tonight to send off yet another pointless memo and offer it up to the gods of technological mercy. So that they may bless our boss with the bare minimum level of consideration and humanity.”

Mickey smiled amusingly as he watched Damon light the piece of paper on fire before dropping it to the cold ground.

“Grow a heart, John Woods,” said Damon with his hands together, laughing at his own mock-prayer.

“Yeah,” agreed Mickey, with his hands also going together, “And go fuck yourself while you're at it.”

Damon laughed harder and reached out to throw a friendly arm over Mickey's shoulder. “I don't know how I would survive that place without you.”

Mickey snorted, but returned, “Ditto.”

After watching the paper burn into a crumbled mess of ash, and making sure it was definitely out, they headed inside to order up their first round of drinks. They had started this new tradition a month back, with Damon insisting it was soothing to the soul to burn the memos; that it felt like venting and letting go of some of their frustration. Mickey was really just there for the drinks with his friend.

And they had many, while they swapped complaints about the _Future Sun_ software they were working on. Damon talked about the struggle his wife and him were having trying to get pregnant. And Mickey finally told him about his strange run-ins with the suspicious redhead, who had yet again bought him coffee on this morning.

Damon insisted Mickey was blind.

“He's totally into you, dude,” argued Damon, “He's bought you coffee _three_ times this week. The effort alone says so. ”

“No it fuckin' doesn't,” argued Mickey, “You don't get it. It's socially acceptable for same-sex people to do things to gain friendship, while with you hetros the intention is clear. A chick knows that if she follows you around and buys your coffee and shit, that you know she's interested in you.”

“That's bullshit,” laughed Damon with his hand raised in protest.

“Did you or did you not buy me fuckin' donuts and change cubicles to be closer to me when we first met?”

Damon frowned, rolling his eyes in annoyance that he'd clearly lost the battle.

“Did I miss somethin'? Were you trying to get in my pants?”

“Whatever, man,” grumbled Damon as he reached for his drink, “I still got a feelin'.”

“Fuck your feelings. The dude basically told me he feels like an outcast and wants a friend. One look at me tells you I got no room to judge, so _of course_ he wants to be my friend.”

“I think you're trying to convince yourself. Sounds to me like you're the one who's really interested.”

Mickey raised a middle finger and tried to hide in his drink. How could he not be interested in that tall glass of water? He was dying of thirst, at this point.

Damon's tiredness seemed to mix with the alcohol strongly enough that he fell asleep with his face down on the dirty table before Iggy even arrived. The alcohol had the opposite effect on Mickey, who felt a second wave of energy rise through him. He left Damon to his _nap_ while he and Iggy made their way to the pool table.

They played for an easy hour while swapping life updates. Mickey was ridiculed every time he ended up giving Iggy talks about how he had to straighten his life out, but he still tried anyways. He actually kind of liked the dipshit and didn't want to see him end up in prison. So, he tried to encourage him. Despite being referred to as a traitor or a pussy.

“You know what I always say, man,” shrugged Mickey, “If I can do it, anyone can.”

“Shut up,” laughed Iggy, “Don't know when you became an after school special.”

Mickey laughed and flipped him off before he bent down to line up a shot. It was in that moment that he saw a familiar head of red hair in his peripherals. He almost fell forward on the table as his head snapped to the side to find Ian walking up to the bar, greeting the bartender with ease.

What the fuck?

The bartender, Kevin, gave an enthusiastic greeting to Ian and the middle schooler that stood close beside him. They both sat down on stools beside the regular Tommy, who also greeted them in some half-hearted fashion. This could not be happening. Mickey had to have had too much alcohol.

“Stop droolin' on the felt, stupid,” Iggy's voice came through, popping the surreal bubble, “Take your shot.”

Mickey sent him a glare as he stood, not taking his shot, and forced his pool stick into Iggy's hands. “Hold this and stay the fuck here.”

Mickey wanted answers, so he headed over to the mystery man and prepared himself for more weird avoidance.

“You fuckin' stalkin' me, man?” accused Mickey by way of greeting.

Ian spun around, eyes wide with surprise as he exclaimed, “Mickey!”

He watched the weirdo look around, as if he also couldn't believe it was really happening, and waited for answers with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Ian let forth an adorable laugh and spoke, “This is a crazy coincidence. What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first.”

“Not really. You asked if I was stalking you,” smirked Ian, “Which I'm not, by the way.”

“Mhm,” nodded Mickey sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We're here waiting for our brother,” explained Ian with a quick tug of his head towards the child sitting beside him.

As if to defend his brother, the boy leaned back and said, “I live with Lip on the weekends, so sometimes we meet at places for the exchange.”

Mickey had a dozen new questions, but only one jumped out of his mouth, “Lip? _Lip Gallagher_ is your brother?”

He knew the smug asshole from school. Though, they weren't exactly friends. Especially after he broke his sister's heart into a million pieces.

“Yeah,” answered Ian with a curious tilt of his head, silently questioning Mickey's knowledge.

“Holy shit,” murmured Mickey, with an expression of dislike ghosting across his face. “ _You're_ a Gallagher? As in Frank fuckin' Gallagher's kid?”

“Your family's not any better, Mick,” chimed Tommy.

“Fuck off, Tommy,” snapped Mickey, gaining a laugh in return from the man.

Ian certainly didn't look insulted by his reaction. In fact he grimaced as he nodded in confirmation.

Mickey unlocked his arms and nervously scratched at the back of his head. What were the odds of them meeting in the downtown district?

“What a small fuckin' world,” murmured Mickey.

“Hey, Mickey, should I call a cab for your friend?” questioned Kevin with a quick point over to Damon.

“Nah, I promised his wife I'd personally get him home. He's fine like that. Dude can sleep anywhere,” explained Mickey, “I'll take another whiskey, though.”

As Kevin poured another glass of whiskey Mickey glanced at Ian and found him still watching him. He wasn't sure if it was the inebriation or the look in Ian's eye that had his skin feeling warmer and warmer by each passing second.

“Make it a double,” added Mickey, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Get me another beer!” called Iggy from the corner.

“How bout you go fuck yourself!” returned Mickey, though he still nodded his head subtly at Kevin, who chuckled.

Once he had both drinks in hand Mickey gave another glance to Ian, who was smiling at him with intrigue, as he had before. Mickey raised a brow and walked away, back to his brother.

“See, if you get a job you can buy your own god damn beer,” said Mickey as he handed the glass over to his brother.

Iggy dismissed his brother's words with a quickly raised middle finger and quietly questioned, “What was that all about?”

“Don't worry about it,” grumbled Mickey.

He took an unnecessarily large gulp from his glass before setting it down and reaching for the pool stick. He only managed to resist looking in Ian's direction for a few minutes, which irritated him. He sank the cue ball due to that irritation, which had him grumpily going back to the small corner table to finish off his whiskey and light a cigarette.

_I think I'm a little nervous that you won't like what you find._

The words rang differently in his head, now. Maybe Ian thought Mickey would judge him for being Southside. He had implied that people in the downtown had already been judgy towards him, so it kind of made sense. Mickey certainly didn't flaunt to anyone there where he came from, for that very reason. He was sure that was why he was treated like an inbred hooligan during his interview, after all.

The more he thought on this, the more he wanted to actually talk with Ian. They clearly had shit in common, so it could potentially be an amazing friendship that Mickey never knew he needed. He would just have to work on ridding himself of his annoying straight-boy attraction in the meantime.

Mickey took a hit from his cigarette and looked over towards the bar. Ian was already looking at him. He watched the redhead smile and look away, and felt his face heating up. Fuck, it was going to be impossible to not want to do things to that gorgeous idiot. Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wasn't a _straight-boy_ attraction, at all.

“You got somethin' going on with that Gallagher?” asked Iggy through an amused smile.

“You knew he was a Gallagher?”

“Duh,” returned Iggy, “I see him around sometimes. He drives a nice ass car. Thought about lifting it a few times.”

“Don't mess with his shit,” threatened Mickey impulsively

“So you _do_ have something going on,” laughed Iggy, causing Mickey to reach out and backhand his arm.

“No, idiot. I know him from work. He does something downtown, too.”

“Must be pretty big, considering the car.”

Mickey shrugged, but wondered about googling the building across the street from his, to see if he could get an idea of what Ian did.

The chatter from the bar grew louder and Mickey looked to find Lip, Kevin's wife, and some other chick had joined the others. They were all loud and joyful for the next twenty minutes as Mickey and Iggy shot pool and discussed the rest of their family.

Their other brothers were filtering in and out of the house, and Terry was locked up again, so Iggy was practically holding it down all on his own. Mickey was continuously happy that he'd been able to get his own place away from that instability. It made it a lot easier to focus on his work.

“You hear from Mandy?” asked Iggy as he took a seat at the small corner table.

Mickey moseyed over to join him, huffing a breath of relief when he sat, and answered, “Last week. She's still kickin' ass and taking names out there.”

Iggy chuckled while he casually plucked a cigarette from Mickey's pack. Mickey pretended like he hadn't seen it. He looked back towards the bar and found half of the crowd gone, but Ian was still there, having a conversation with Kevin's wife, Veronica, over the bar. The young kid was gone, so Mickey uncontrollably wondered if Ian was hanging around for him. He was sure it wasn't for the shitty beer the redhead was drinking.

“You're staring again, dude,” murmured Iggy.

Mickey shot him a glare and returned, “The fuck ever, man. You got a jay on you?”

Iggy pulled out his own crushed cigarette pack and slipped a small joint out, but before handing it over he asked, “You got five bucks?”

“Five bucks for your shitty dirt weed?” Mickey scoffed. “How bout I buy the next round of drinks and you chill out?”

Iggy beamed and handed it over. Mickey tucked it behind his ear and made his way to the booth to collect his coat. He gave Damon a pat on the back, who simply groaned a bit and shifted to hide his eyes more. Mickey chuckled to himself and made his way outside.

He leaned against the building as he took the first hit of smoke in. It was probably time he headed home. Val would be calling him to check on Damon soon, he'd bet. And Mickey really needed to catch up on sleep, finally.

Something shiny caught his attention, though, and had him walking away from the bar a bit.

There parked on the curb, and entirely out of place in this neighborhood, was a mid-size luxury car with chrome accents. This had to be the car Iggy had mentioned. His eyebrows were fully up in an impressed motion as he blew out a long plume of smoke.

“Like it?”

Mickey looked over his shoulder so fast he didn't know how he hadn't strained his neck. Ian was smiling softly, making his way to Mickey's side.

“This really yours?”

“Mhm.”

“How stupid are you to bring it to this neighborhood?”

Ian laughed, shoving his pockets into the puffy coat he wore. “It's the only car I have. And it's paid off, so if someone wants to steal it, my insurance will fix the problem.”

“What's that like,” scoffed Mickey. “You must be rollin' in the dough, huh?”

Ian eyed his car as he let out a hum of consideration. “In a way.”

Mickey sent him a look, wondering what the fuck that could mean. Ian simply smirked in the same annoyingly mysterious way he had since they met and Mickey rolled his eyes in response.

“Can I get a hit?” asked Ian unexpectedly, motioning towards Mickey's hand.

Mickey shrugged a bit and held it out, ignoring the brief feeling of their fingers brushing against each other. Ian took an impressive hit, with his eyes closing in pleasure. Mickey watched closely, so closely, like he'd never seen anything so beautiful. Ian was smirking again as he passed it back and Mickey defaulted to chewing nervously on his bottom lip, wondering if Ian knew how Mickey had just studied as many details of his face that he could in the short moment.

“So, uh, what's with the kid exchange?” inquired Mickey, before taking another hit of his own.

He did his best to ignore the way Ian smoothly blew out his hit, especially the way his lips looked a little puckered out.

“Our oldest sister, Fiona, threw in the towel and ran off. She was the legal guardian and of course Frank was totally MIA for months. And our other sister Debbie has too much going on. So, it fell on Lip and I to make sure Liam's life didn't get completely fucked up.

“He stays with me on weekdays, because he goes to a private school close to where I live. Lip takes him on weekends so I can have some free time.”

Mickey nodded a few times in understanding. “That's really cool, man, that you guys are doing that for him. Don't think any of my siblings would've done that for each other.”

“Oh, yeah,” laughed Ian unexpectedly, gaining a raised brow in response. “So, you're a Milkovich, huh?”

Mickey briefly wondered how Ian had figured that out, but silently concluded it must have been Iggy's presence, given he had mentioned knowing of Ian.

“That a problem?” returned Mickey, a little defensively—maybe even worriedly.

“No. Your personality just makes a lot more sense,” teased Ian, “I remember hearing stories about you. Mickey Milkovich.”

Mickey chewed nervously on his bottom lip, again, as he tried to snuff out the rush of embarrassment that flooded him. He didn't exactly have a good reputation in their neighborhood growing up. But, it had been about survival then, not about being himself.

“Good. Now you know not to fuck with me,” said Mickey, albeit quietly.

Ian surprisingly laughed at that and reached for the joint, again. Mickey let him have it.

“I get the impression you're not like that anymore,” responded Ian, and Mickey's stomach danced happily. He couldn't help the smile he gave the redhead. Ian kept his eyes on him as he inhaled more smoke and Mickey felt his gaydar ping excitedly. Friends didn't look at each other that way. Okay, definitely not just a _straight-boy attraction_.

A noise filled the air suddenly, in an annoyingly repetitive way that totally ruined the moment. Ian mumbled an apology as he pulled a phone from his pocket. He quickly handed what was left of the joint back to Mickey and said, “Oh, excuse me.”

Mickey nodded a bit, but Ian wasn't looking at him now as he quickly accepted the call and raised it to his ear. He walked away from Mickey, down the block, saying into the device, “Hey, I'm really sorry I didn't text you back. I was just getting Liam to Lip. No, I wasn't trying to ignore you.”

Suspicion filled Mickey, reminding him of how strange their exchanges had always been, and he snuffed out the rest of the joint to return inside. He returned to the corner with the pool table, stripping away his coat to toss on the back of the chair he had been using at the small table.

“How about that other round, now?” nodded Iggy.

Mickey snorted and returned, “Keep your pants on. I gotta take a piss, first.”

He made his way to the familiar, disgusting, bathroom and even after emptying his bladder he lingered, debating on if he should just leave or not. Was it wrong to be a bit hopeful with the redheaded Gallagher? He couldn't figure it out. All he knew was that his body was screaming at him to go for it.

Mickey took a look in the mirror and ran both hands through his styled hair, before cutting a swear out into the echoing room and following his instincts back out into the bar. More people had piled into the bar, mostly just the usual barflies. He didn't see Ian, though, and wondered if he was still on the phone with whoever the fuck.

When he turned to go back to the pool table his heart did a back flip at the sight of Ian talking with Iggy in the corner. He approached with curious caution, watching the two laugh together.

“Hey, Ian bought a round of shots,” announced Iggy upon noticing his brother.

Ian turned to look at Mickey with a smile that nearly had him tripping over his own feet.

“Cool if I hang with you guys?” asked Ian.

Mickey nodded immediately, and hoped he didn't look as eager as he felt. He approached the table enough to grab his own shot and downed it quickly, sucking in his lip as he inhaled the burn of it. He glanced at Ian and again found a heated stare that Mickey felt in the depths of his loins.

Iggy was racking the table for the next game, thankfully, so Mickey indulged a bit in the green gaze. “The fuck you lookin' at, Red?” he questioned quietly with a knowing smile.

Ian grinned and shrugged guiltily, which Mickey simply took as an admission. His smile turned to a confident smirk as his eyes moved down Ian's lean body. He realized how different, but attractive, it was to see Ian dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt. And fuck if he didn't wear the shit out of a t-shirt; it left little to the imagination of how hard the muscles were beneath it.

“Ian said he used to hang out with Mandy,” interrupted Iggy from the table, “They were in the same classes.”

“That right?”

“Yeah, Iggy was just telling me how well she's doing,” Ian's smile turned to a warm one. “I haven't talked to her in a long time, but she was my favorite person.”

“Yeah, she's alright,” returned Mickey with an equally warm smile of adoration for his sister.

He went on to challenge Ian to a game of pool which turned out to be difficult, given the distraction. The whole game was filled with teasing and flirtatious looks. Iggy had even taken the hint and planted himself at the corner table where he kept his eyes on the smartphone Mickey was sure he had stolen from someone.

When Mickey successfully sunk the eight ball in the right pocket he tilted his head and gave Ian a smug smile. Ian chuckled and surprisingly lifted his middle finger, which simply made Mickey grin.

“I call next,” Iggy said, and Mickey almost sighed at the reminder of his brother's presence still lingering around. But, then he added, “Then I'm gonna get goin'. Got shit to do in the morning.”

Mickey snorted as he passed his brother on the way back to the table. “The fuck do you have to do in the morning?”

Mickey pulled out a cigarette and noticed Ian eyeing them. He held out the nearly empty pack and took in a fluttery breath as he watched Ian smile happily at the gesture.

“Jamie needs help with somethin'.”

Mickey turned to face his brother with a disapproving, tired, look. “Igg, what do I keep sayin'?”

“Fuck off,” returned Iggy, “Save the repeat sermon for a different day.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, sucking a huge hit from his cigarette. “What's he want you to do?”

“Don't wanna talk about it in front of your _friend_ ,” returned Iggy as he made his way to get one of the pool sticks. The way he exaggerated the last word had Mickey tensing and glancing at Ian, who seemed unfazed by the whole conversation, thankfully.

Mickey ended up sitting in one of the stools at the table while the other two played, sending off update texts to Val about her drunk husband. She wasn't surprised by his current state.

“So, Ian, what do you do downtown?” asked Iggy, causing Mickey to look up from his phone. “Mickey didn't know.”

“Yeah, wonder why I don't know,” chuckled Mickey while he shot Ian a look.

He returned a big eyed guilty look and answered Iggy, “I just work a boring desk job. Office administrative assistant.”

Mickey was just about to ask how that possibly paid for his expensive car when Ian added, “I'm in school, though.”

“For what?”

“Social work,” answered Ian as he leaned over to the table to snatch what remained of his cigarette, “My siblings and I had to deal with the system enough that I'd like to get in there and do some good, ya know?”

“I can respect that,” nodded Mickey smoothly, even though inside he was absolutely filled with admiration. He wished he had a heart big enough to do something like that.

Ian sent him a crooked smile as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray. “'preciate that. A lot of people don't.”

“Why the fuck not?” asked Mickey with a scowl.

“Social work pays shit, basically,” shrugged Ian, “Lot of people in my circle look down on jobs like that.”

“Well, your circle sucks, then,” dismissed Mickey, gaining a laugh and nod of agreement from Ian in return.

“How exactly did you get into such a snobby circle, working the job you do?” questioned Iggy skeptically as he stepped away to let Ian take a shot. “Not like your current job would pay _that much_.”

Ian was quiet for a moment as he made his way to the cue ball. He was already bent over, lining up the shot, by the time he vaguely murmured, “That's a long story.”

Iggy sent Mickey a look, who just shrugged in return. It became a lot less talkative for the rest of their game after this. Mickey sipped a beer that he was sure was actually Iggy's and smoked another cigarette, occasionally checking his phone. When they finished Iggy wandered off to the restroom and Ian planted himself in the other seat.

Mickey couldn't help the excitement that zipped through his body at the thought of Iggy leaving them alone, finally. The possibilities were hanging in the air between them as they looked at one another. Ian leaned an arm on the small table between them and grew a gentle little smile.

“Still can't believe how crazy it is that we met at Woods Tech. And not around here growing up beforehand.”

Mickey nodded in agreement, but still said, “Maybe we did, but just don't remember.”

“Oh, I would've remembered,” disagreed Ian quickly.

“Yeah? Why you think that?” returned Mickey through a growing smile.

“Hard to forget a hot guy, right?”

Ian said it quietly, and certainly had a flash of fear in his eyes as he spoke, but Mickey knew they were finally verbally testing the waters. The surprise confirmation of Ian's side had Mickey's face on fire and what he knew was a stupid grin sprouting up on it. Ian shined all his teeth right back at him and let out a bashful laugh that Mickey gobbled right up.

“You sayin' you think I'm hot, Gallagher?” asked Mickey with a tilt of his head.

Ian's eyes waltzed over Mickey in a suggestive way that had him even more surprised.

“Oh, yeah, Mick,” returned Ian in a low voice, “Actually, I think you're more than that.”

Everything made so much sense now. All of Ian's confusing actions. Damon was fucking _right_.

“Aren't you married?” questioned Iggy from behind them, almost making Mickey jump by his sudden reappearance. He was just about to berate him when his brother's words settled into his brain. He looked over at Iggy, wondering how he would know something like that, and Iggy tugged his head towards Ian's hand under the table.

Mickey looked down and felt instantly pissed at the sight of the silver band on Ian's finger. How did he possibly miss that shiny piece of metal? How could he be so blind? He was clearly too distracted by his beautiful lying face.

Ian closed his hand, as if hiding it now even mattered.

“Are you fucking serious?” spat Mickey.

Ian sat up and visibly pulled in a long breath in preparation. “Look, it's complicated. I'm sorry I didn't say anything about it, but there's a lot to say.”

“Doesn't seem complicated to me. The fuck you think this is?” questioned Mickey angrily, “You think you can cheat on your wife with me? Then go home to her in your nice cozy closet and pretend like you didn't _fuck a dude_?”

“Maybe he's bisexual, dude,” suggested Iggy.

“Iggy, I swear to god,” growled Mickey.

“It's really not like that, at all,” defended Ian quietly.

“Save it. Now that I finally fuckin' get it, I'm done. Not gonna be your shameful little secret, Ian.”

Mickey snatched his phone from the table and threw his coat on angrily. How could he be so stupid? He was too wrapped up in the idea of getting with someone, silencing some of his loneliness, that he had missed a large, very noticeable piece of the puzzle.

He ordered an uber in record time as he made his way to the table Damon was now drooling all over. He shook him a little rougher than he'd meant, but this did seem to speed up the process. Grabbing Damon's coat, Mickey threw his arm over his shoulders and hoisted him up. He found the fuel of anger coursing through him had shut his buzz up and made it easier to haul the larger man towards the door.

Mickey gave one last look to Ian and hated how wounded the guy's expression was. Still, he pressed on. He was the one in the wrong, not Mickey.

 


	3. I'll Pay My Weight in Blood to Feel My Nerves Wake Up

Mickey alternated between feeling anxious and angry all weekend. He knew he was most angry at himself for spending all week secretly fantasizing about what could be with Ian. He'd thought for a moment, just before discovering the truth, that he had actually struck gold.

Now he knew he could never have any of what he wanted. No romantic dinners, or bringing him to office parties, or even getting to publicly be his partner. Even if he got a piece, he would never have _all_ of him.

Mickey had been with a married guy before that he'd met on grindr, and he got over that thrill real fast. He had also fucked around enough in general. And sure, it was fun, but he actually wanted more out of life. He knew that casual sex would never completely fill the lonely pit inside of him after testing the theory enough.

Feeling a bit raw, he welcomed every distraction. He answered all texts and even phone calls, rented a couple movies, drank way too much beer, and slept as much as he could. On Sunday his phone rang with a call from Mandy and he happily scooped that up. He asked her a dozen questions about her new life, hoping for long stories that could redirect his imagination from the damn redhead. And it worked for a bit. Until his mouth seemed to veer off on it's own course.

“Hey, you remember hanging out with a Gallagher?” he asked, and nearly smacked himself in the forehead immediately after.

“Ian? Yeah, why?”

“He works near where I do. I've run into him a lot this week and he mentioned you.”

“Aww,” sang Mandy, “I need to get a hold of him and catch up.”

“I guess.”

There was a pause of silence, until Mandy's voice came through with suspicion and amusement, “He still drippin' with sex?”

Mickey scoffed, preparing to let out some of the unkind thoughts he had been using to battle away his desires all weekend, but Mandy cut through it.

“I had it bad for him, ya know, before he came out to me.”

“You know he's gay?”

“Yeah, Mick,” laughed Mandy, “Everyone kinda does.”

“Isn't he married to some chick?”

“No, moron. He's married to some _dick_. The dude is loaded, apparently.”

Holy shit, it was even worse than he thought. The tiny flickering light at the end of the tunnel burned out in a quick flash. The crazed hope he had been holding onto that someday Ian would come out and leave his wife vanished as he spat, “Man, fuck him. What an asshole.”

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Nothin'. Just been fuckin' with my god damn head for the last week. I'm the fuck over it.”

“Doesn't sound like it. You guys been screwing around?”

“Hell no. I saw his wedding band and bounced the fuck out.”

“That's some willpower. Don't know if I could walk away from that.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I found it pretty damn easy. Other fish in the sea, and shit.”

Mandy cackled at that and Mickey contemplated hanging up on her.

“You're pretty worked up about this, Mick. Sure you're not trying to talk yourself out of something?”

“Fuck off. I'm worked up because the dude basically lied to me every time we saw each other.”

 

 

*

Monday morning had Mickey swarming with fear that he would see the redhead. He considered going in extra early, but truthfully nothing sounded more miserable than going into that hellhole earlier than he needed to. Still, he second guessed his decision when he approached the building.

“Fuck,” said Mickey under his breath as he paused outside of the rotating doors.

There, sitting in one of the leather waiting chairs of the lobby, was Ian with two coffee cups and anxious fingers that seemed to be tapping nonstop on the arm of the chair.

Someone pushed past Mickey and into the rotating doors, causing his brows to shoot up. He was a ticking time bomb and he swore he would end up exploding on one of the impatient assholes in the downtown. He sucked in a breath, tasting his anger, and moved forward into the building.

It didn't take long for Ian to spot him and shoot up out of the chair. Mickey walked quickly towards the security line, but Ian caught up before he'd even reached a halfway point.

“Save it,” spat Mickey with a hand raised in Ian's direction.

“Wait, just let me say something really quick, okay?”

Mickey froze, turning slowly to look at Ian with eyes doused in flames. He saw Ian's throat bob as he obviously swallowed roughly, and yet the beautiful brave idiot approached him with a quick glance around the perimeter for others.

“The fuck you dragging this out for?” questioned Mickey angrily, trying very hard to keep his voice down as much as he could, “ _What the hell_ do you want from me?”

Ian frowned and held out one of the coffee cups. Mickey gave him an exhausted look.

“I asked you a question, not for fucking coffee.”

“Just take it, asshole,” sighed Ian.

Mickey's brows went right back up to his forehead and it was only because of the gaggle of people breezing by them that Mickey pressed his lips together to keep anything ugly from tumbling out. He ended up taking the coffee. Not because Ian wanted him to, but because he really needed it this morning.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize. I didn't outright lie to you about anything, but I know that it's still kind of lying by omission.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” murmured Mickey into his coffee before taking a big gulp.

“And yes it was probably wrong of me to not disclose everything before hitting on you.”

“ _Probably_?” repeated Mickey heatedly. “Look this whole situation has been fuckin' with my head since you bought me coffee the first time. I'm already stressed enough with other shit, which is making this all extra frustrating. The truth is out there now, can you just leave me alone and get back to your lavish life of bullshit?”

Real pain filled Ian's eyes and this unfortunately cut Mickey too deeply. He hated that this seemingly stranger of a person was making him feel things so strongly. He felt a complete lack of control that made him just want to implode.

Ian let out a deep sigh and Mickey noticed his free hand closed into a fist. Mickey nearly wished that fist was preparing to launch at him. He was ready for a fight to blow off some steam, and didn't really care who the hell it was with.

“I'm sorry I added to your stress, Mickey,” spoke Ian sullenly, “I just wanted to apologize and clarify that I wasn't trying to make you some thrilling dirty secret. I _am_ gay and very out.”

“I know,” blurted Mickey, and Ian's eyes widened in interest, “You're still married, asshole. Did your vows mean nothing to you?”

Ian froze with his mouth open. Mickey watched as he looked around worriedly, and found himself also glancing around like the nonsensical paranoia was contagious. Then it hit him.

“Holy shit. He works _here_ , doesn't he?” mused Mickey, feeling the pieces really come together now. But, when Ian again started to speak he cut him off, “Know what? I don't need to know. It's none of my business. I was into you, but now that I know the reason you were acting all weird, I'm not tryin' to jump into some mess. Simple as that.”

Ian gave him a frustrated look and slowly nodded. “I guess you're right. I just really like you.”

“And I'm sure your husband really likes _you_.”

Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I meant that I'd still like to try to be friends.”

“You seriously wanna be friends still?”

“Why not?” returned Ian as if it was all simple, “We've got a lot in common, I think. And it'd be nice to have an ally around here.”

Mickey snorted. “You really piss me off.”

“I could be a good friend, though,” shrugged Ian, “I'll try not to piss you off as much anymore.”

Mickey let out a slightly hysterical laugh and walked away without another word spoken.

 

 

**

Ian felt unbalanced as he watched Mickey walk away to security. He tried to stamp down the burning awareness of just how pathetic he was, but that seemed impossible in this moment. He was so desperate for anything from Mickey that he would drop to his knees and beg for the friendship he was requesting, regardless of the obvious truth that he still wanted more from the angry blue-eyed man.

The first interaction he'd had with Mickey had been the first time he'd felt anything in so long that he had become some sort of weak, obsessive idiot. He was clinging to it like a life preserver in his sea of nothingness. He would try, try, and try again to keep hold of the source of his feelings, even if it seemed he was making Mickey hate him more and more after every interaction.

Ian turned to leave, realizing someone might notice his strange behavior, and spotted someone familiar. Mickey's friend that had been passed out at the Alibi. His heart raced with an unreasonable, ridiculous hope as he quickly walked to the man, cutting off his journey to his job.

Ian put on his best smile and spoke, “Damon, right?”

“Uh, that's right,” answered Damon with suspicion, “Who wants to know?”

“My name's Ian,” he introduced with a hand extended.

Damon shook it with a confused nod, and Ian figured he'd better get to the point quickly. What the hell even was his point?

“Uh, I saw you the other night at the Alibi.”

“That right?” Damon scratched at his chin, eyes glazing over a bit, before he let out a laugh, “Well, you know I wasn't really in the condition to remember anyone.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, it's cool. Been there.”

“Yeah, uh, well, it's nice to meet ya, Ian, but I gotta get upstairs before I'm late.”

Damon started to move, but Ian reached a desperate hand out, “Wait.”

He regarded Ian suspiciously and crossed his arms, and Ian thought that it made perfect sense that he was friends with Mickey. They both had a similar intimidating aura.

“I just wanted to ask you for a favor. See, I wanted to ask Mickey something, but I just missed him,” lied Ian, only panicking a little at the thought of Mickey finding out. “I wondered if you could give me his number?”

Damon's mouth opened, but he paused. He then seemed to really take Ian in for the first time, and when his eyes obviously landed on Ian's hair, he sprouted a grin.

“Oh, shit, you're the dude that keeps buying him coffee, huh?”

Ian cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck while he smiled nervously at him.

“Guilty,” he murmured.

Damon chuckled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Ian's heart skipped excitedly as he shoved his hand in his pocket to do the same.

“Don't tell him I gave it to ya, though,” said Damon with an amused glint to his eyes as he glanced up at Ian, “Don't matter that he's obviously interested, the boy is stubborn.”

Ian's brow went up, “Interested? Think so?”

Damon barked out a laugh.

“You kids are ridiculous,” concluded Damon as he turned his phone for Ian to see.

He double checked the number at least eight times, for fear that he would never get another chance again, then flashed a large grin at Damon.

“Thanks so much.”

“No problem. Be nice to him, he's a good guy,” spoke Damon as he backed away, giving a quick wave goodbye at the end of his words.

Ian nodded, waving in return, and immediately started a new message thread with Mickey's number. But, as he started to type out a message, he began to doubt it was the right time. He had just annoyed Mickey again, maybe he should wait a day or two. At least eleven hours, or so. Maybe six.

Ian shoved his phone into his pocket like the horrible temptation it was and headed to work to distract himself from doing something stupid.

 

 

*

Mickey didn't even bother with a glass as he planted himself on his couch that evening with a fresh bottle of whiskey in hand. He searched through the comedy genre on Netflix in a desperate attempt to find some temporary joy, though ended up playing the same comedy show he usually did in moments like these.

Kicking back and guzzling down the first gulp of booze, he checked his e-mail on his phone. Pleased to not find any late night updates on his work from co-workers, he set the phone on his chest and looked to the tv. Not a minute later his phone buzzed and his eyes closed in frustration. Here it was.

Instead, he found a strange text from an unknown number.

 

 **Unknown (9:35 p.m.):** Hey

 **Mickey (9:36 p.m.):** who's this?

 **Unknown:** Ian :)

 

Mickey's brows went up and even as he sighed, he didn't miss the way his heart skipped a beat.

 

 **Mickey:** How'd you get my number?

 **Ian:** I asked around.

 

That still didn't make any sense to him. Who the hell would give Ian his number? He thought about sending out several accusing texts to his coworkers, but figured he'd just ask tomorrow at work.

 

 **Mickey:** No one said you could do that. What'd ya want?

 **Ian:** Told you I want to be friends still. Thought we could try texting?

 **Mickey:** Don't know if that's a good idea

 **Ian:** You keep saying that. Will you at least tell me why?

 

Mickey took another large swig from his bottle of whiskey as he tried to think of an eloquent way of spelling it out. But, instead he decided to just be blunt.

 

 **Mickey:** Because we wanna fuck each other

 **Ian:** Well yeah. But, it's fine if we just don't right?

 

Mickey rolled his eyes and set his phone down. What the hell was with this guy? How was it appropriate to text someone you want to have sex with while you're married? Plus, it was admittedly quite painful to Mickey's stupid lonely soul to text the idiot when he knew it would go nowhere. His phone buzzed again and he quickly scooped it up like the chump that he was.

 

 **Ian:** Am I that irresistible? You can't even text me without worrying you'll end up doing something with me? _[winky face emoji]_

 

Mickey nibbled his bottom lip and continued with his honesty.

 

 **Mickey:** Kinda

 **Ian:** That's a hell of a compliment coming from you :)

 **Mickey:** This is what I'm talking about. We're already flirting

 **Ian:** It's just friendly flirting, Mick.

 

Mickey replied with only three middle finger emojis and set his phone down, again. It buzzed soon after. He ignored it for as long as he could, until it buzzed again.

 

 **Ian:** haha Okay I'm sorry

 **Ian:** I promise I'll keep it in my pants. What are you up to tonight, Buddy?

 **Mickey:** Trying to relax but this dude won't stop texting me.

 **Ian:** haha :) Why don't you just ignore him?

 

What a great question. Mickey was entirely flabbergasted by why he couldn't.

 

 **Mickey:** Fuck you man

 **Ian:** That's against the rules, remember? _[winky face emoji]_

 

Mickey snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes.

 

 **Mickey:** Lol stfu

 **Ian:** Well since you didn't ask I'll just tell you. I'm being a vegetable in front of my tv. I was working on schoolwork but this new show stole my attention.

 

Mickey uncontrollably tried to picture the imagery Ian had sent him, but as he tried to figure what Ian's living room could look like another thought occurred to him.

 

 **Mickey:** What's your husband doing?

 **Ian:** Sleeping.

 

That truthful response left Mickey crushed under the reality of the situation. He frowned and tossed his phone to the other side of the couch, using the ache in his heart to resist even looking at it when it buzzed one last time.

 


	4. Text Me, Call Me, I Need You in My Life, Yeah.

Even though the first attempt hadn't ended well, Ian still found himself texting Mickey again the next night. He didn't know how to stop himself.

 **Ian (9:33 p.m.):** _How was your day?_

 **Mickey:** _Are you fucking serious?_

Ian couldn't help the laugh that fell out of his mouth. He could hear Mickey saying those words perfectly like he was right in front of him, or sitting beside him on the couch in his empty living room. He feigned ignorance, just to work him up a little bit more.

 **Ian:** _About wanting to know how your day was? Yes :)_

 **Mickey:** _Man you gotta give it up. You're cool but you're married_

Ian sighed, slouching more on his couch. He contemplated just laying it all out, but there was a chance that if he just confessed everything about the last couple years of his life then Mickey might really call it quits completely and never respond again. Or maybe he'd understand.

Ian backed down from facing everything, again, as he didn't feel the strength. He just felt desperately indulgent.

 **Ian:** _We're just texting. What's the big deal?_

 **Mickey:** _Your husband cool with you texting me every night?_

 **Ian:** _Doesn't know. I don't really know if he'd care or not. We're not exactly close tbh._

 **Mickey:** _Oh yeah only married is all lol_

 **Ian:** _It's complicated._

 **Mickey:** _Care to elaborate?_

 **Ian:** _I'd kinda rather explain that in person_

 **Mickey:** _Whatever man. Not trying to be a homewrecker_

 **Ian:** _We're not doing anything wrong Mick_

 **Mickey:** _You get flirty_

Ian snorted as he read that. He had tried not to be, honestly, but he found that futile with Mickey, unfortunately.

 **Ian:** _He knows I'm a flirty person. It's part of the reason I'm in this mess._

 **Mickey:** _So there is trouble in paradise huh?_

 **Ian:** _It's never been a paradise lol_

 **Mickey:** _That why you're sniffing around me? Looking for a release?_

 **Ian:** _No. I just really like you, Mick._

 **Mickey:** _Yeah well polygamy is illegal in the state of Illinois_

Ian laughed out loud of that, quickly typing out his reply without really thinking too much about it.

 **Ian:** _[laughing emoji]_ _Yeah pretty sure if it wasn't he would have collected five of me by now_

 **Mickey:** _Seriously? Your marriage that fucked up?_

 **Ian:** _lol um yeah. Anyhow, you gonna tell me how your day was now?_

 **Mickey:** _You're such a weirdo. It was shitty. Just like yesterday. Pretty sure every day is gonna suck until we're done with this project._

 **Ian:** _Sorry to hear that. I'll make sure you've got a hot coffee waiting for you tomorrow k? :)_

 **Mickey:** _Don't gotta do that, man. Bought enough for me already_

 **Ian:** _Gives me an excuse to see you though [winky face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _Stop flirting and go to bed._

Ian grinned, finding his leg wagging back and forth like a happy dog's tail.

 **Ian:** _Mmm so demanding [winky face emoji] I like it._

 **Mickey:** _[middle finger emoji]_ _Go. To. Bed._

 

*

Mickey smiled when he noticed Ian sitting in one of the waiting chairs, with two cups of coffee on the small table beside him, doing something on his phone. He really did get Mickey that coffee.

He managed to force away his smile on his journey over to the persistent man, and put on his best annoyed voice to greet him with, “Thought I told you, you don't gotta buy my coffee.”

Ian's head whipped around before he shot to his feet with a smile, dropping his phone in the pocket of his long sleek wool coat. “Mornin', Mick,” he greeted.

“Yeah, mornin',” returned Mickey, glancing around to hide the frustrating spark of joy he felt. “How you always so bright and shiny in the morning?”

“I'm a morning person,” shrugged Ian as he passed Mickey his coffee.

Mickey took it, giving Ian a once-over, and murmured, “I'll never understand morning people. You probably exercise a lot, too, huh?”

“Yep,” chirped Ian, “I used to go for runs in the neighborhood back home every morning. Now I just run on a treadmill every morning.”

“You used to run for _fun_ in our neighborhood?” joked Mickey with a raised brow.

Ian laughed and shrugged, again.

“Yeah, alright, weirdo. I'm heading up, so, uh, thanks for the coffee,” said Mickey as he took a step away, “Even though I told you not to buy it.”

Ian grinned and gave Mickey a devastatingly attractive wink. “Talk to you later, Mick.”

 

*

 **Ian (9:36 p.m.):** _So was it another shitty day?_

Mickey smiled and paused his video game, already giving into the assuming thought that he'd be texting Ian for more than a few minutes. This was becoming routine, anymore, to sit on his couch at night and chat with the mystery man.

 **Mickey:** _Actually wasn't too bad today. We kinda kicked ass._

 **Ian:** _That's great! :) I'm sure the morning pick-me-up helped_ _[winky face emoji]_

Mickey grinned, letting out a soft laugh, and quickly typed his reply.

 **Mickey:** _Such a cocky shit aren't ya?_

 **Ian:** _I was talking about the caffeine, Mick._

 **Ian:** _[tongue face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _The fuck ever haha_

Not walking away angrily from Ian this morning had in fact helped Mickey face the day with a smile. He had let himself live in the fantasy of a gorgeous _single_ man chasing after him, and let it fuel his work day. It had helped a lot, facing his work with a hopeful feeling in his chest. Even when the flickering thought of Ian being married flashed in his mind, the countering thought of him obviously being unhappily married forced it's way in. He was kind of antsy to get the whole story from Ian, anymore. Maybe the marriage was falling apart. Maybe Ian was in the process of separating from his husband?

 **Ian:** _I talked to Mandy for a bit today :) She sent me a message out of the blue._

 **Mickey:** _She mentioned she was gonna do that_

 **Ian:** _So you guys have been talking about me, huh?_ _[winky face emoji]_

Mickey paused, and anxiously chewed on his bottom lip while he considered if he should throw more chum in the water, or not.

 **Mickey:** _You fuckin love those dumb winking emojis man lol_

 **Ian:** _hahaha yeah well you already pointed out I'm flirty so_

 **Mickey:** _[eye rolling emoji]_ _anyhow yeah. Told Mandy that a Gallagher was bugging me every day_

 **Ian:** _Is that really what you said? Haha_

 **Mickey:** _Something like that lol_

 **Ian:** _Cause she told me you've got the hots for me :)_

Mickey's heart jumped to his throat reading that message.

 **Mickey:** _Wtf? Why would she say that?_

 **Ian:** _Haha you tell me!_

Freakin' Mandy. He had half a mind to screenshot the conversation and send it to her with a threat or two attached.

 **Mickey:** _Not telling you shit until you're divorced jerkwad_

 **Ian:** _Mm, I kinda like how much you're playing hard to get, Mick._

Mickey pressed deeper into his couch, as if it could shield him from the flickering guilt he felt for being annoyingly aroused by a text message. His mind was torturing him with the sound of Ian's voice saying those words aloud, in a low husky voice.

 **Mickey:** _Fuck off Gallagher_

 **Ian:** _Haha alright I'll stop._

 **Ian:** _Anyways it was nice hearing from Mandy. She was a really good friend in school._

 **Mickey:** _My sister Mandy??_

 **Ian:** _[laughing face emoji]_ _don't act like you don't know how big a heart she has._

Mickey smiled warmly as he read that. He really must've been close with her if he knew that. It only made him wonder more how he'd never crossed paths with the redhead before. Life was so unfair.

 **Ian:** _You know she was basically my beard throughout highschool right? I owe her a lot for that shit._

 **Mickey:** _Must've been nice. I was still fuckin chicks when I dropped out lol_

 **Ian:** _Lol Really? How'd you end up at the job you have now, btw if you dropped out?_

 **Mickey:** _A lot of work man. Made myself finish school online then looked into some local programs I could manage. Got a low level job that helped my ass get into college for software development and now 59 years later I'm in crippling debt lol_

 **Ian:** _No shit? You getting paid enough at Woods tech to dwindle it down?_

 **Mickey:** _Yup. Got a five year plan to pay that shit off don't worry your little head_

 **Ian:** _Haha well that's really impressive, Mickey :) What lit the fire under your ass?_

Mickey stared blankly at the message for longer than he should as his mind drifted back to terrible memories he tried his hardest to avoid. He finally set the phone down and sat up to reach for his cigarettes. He was about halfway through the cigarette when he realized he still hadn't replied. He let out an annoyed breath and gave a vague answer.

 **Mickey:** _Just had to get the fuck away from my dad ya know_

 **Ian:** _Oh. Yeah I get it. We all gotta do shit to survive even if it sucks._

 **Mickey:** _No shit lol_

 **Ian:** _I hate that we didn't meet sooner_

Mickey frowned, even if it was a relief that Ian also felt the same amount of bitterness.

 **Mickey:** _Me too_

 **Mickey:** _But I don't think you'd have liked me before_

 **Ian:** _Why not?_

 **Mickey:** _You know why. I was a shithead back in the day_

 **Mickey:** _Like you said gotta do shit to survive right?_

 **Ian:** _I could've handled you. Actually dirty hood rat Mickey sounds kinda hot_

Mickey's smile returned and he shook his head while he smashed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his coffee table.

 **Mickey:** _Lol stfu_

 **Mickey:** _Your freckled ass would've run the other way_

 **Ian:** _Haha why don't you believe me? Grew up with those kinda guys but didn't get to fuck any_

 **Mickey:** _But always wanted to huh?_

 **Ian:** _There weren't guys in the neighborhood you wanted to fool around with?_

 **Mickey:** _Man I didn't even let myself think about it lol_

 **Ian:** _Poor lil closeted Mick...I would've given him what he needed._

Mickey was downright blushing now.

 **Mickey:** _[middle finger emoji]_ _The fuck you would've. And why the fuck you talking like I'm a baby?_

 **Ian:** _My heart just breaks thinking about your younger self lol_

 **Mickey:** _Get over it. I did._

 **Ian:** _Nah I think I'll baby you a little more :)_

 **Mickey:** _I'm gonna stop texting you asshole_

 **Ian:** _I bet you like it too much_

 **Ian:** _In fact I'll bet you're thinking about it now_

 **Ian:** _Young me sneaking young you off to a secluded place_

Mickey blew out a breath and laid back to stretch out on the couch. He wondered if that would have changed anything for him back then. If he'd had someone—anyone—to just escape with, and really be himself. Shit, that would have changed _everything_.

 **Mickey:** _You really are a cocky shit_

 **Ian:** _[winky face emoji]_

Mickey laughed out loud and felt a warm flutter in his belly as he tucked an arm behind his head. He leaned into the pleasant sensations, summoning images of what he thought Ian might look like as a teen. But, it was difficult to think about any other version than the one he already knew, so he focused on adult Ian.

 **Mickey:** _What would we have done in this secluded place?_

Ian didn't reply right away, as if he was really thinking it over.

 **Ian:** _Well I'd probably try to just talk to you at first. Ask you about your life._

 **Mickey:** _I would've told you to fuck off lol_

 **Ian:** _Then I would've focused on flirting with you :)_

 **Mickey:** _And I would've told you to fuck off again_

 **Ian:** _Really? Haha Would you have made out with me at least?_

 **Mickey:** _Fuck no. I didn't even kiss a guy until I was 22_

 **Ian:** _Seriously???_

 **Mickey:** _Look I screwed around with a couple guys when I was young but that was just getting off. I didn't even admit to myself that I was gay until I was 20_

 **Ian:** _What happened when you were 20?_

 **Mickey:** _Some bullshit I don't wanna talk about. So all you'd do in the secluded place is try to hold my hand and shit like that?_

 **Ian:** _Uhh well I'd probably just keep trying everything until I found what you're cool with_

 **Mickey:** _So straight to fucking then lol_

 **Ian:** _hahaha Yeah I would've been game for that!_

 **Ian:** _Bet I could've gotten you to kiss me eventually though_

 **Mickey:** _Guess we'll never know huh_

 **Ian:** _You tell me_

Mickey sighed as Ian was obviously testing the waters, _again_. He really was relentless.

 **Mickey:** _Thinking we should stop talking about that now_

 **Ian:** _We can't fantasize about what could've been?_

 **Mickey:** _Don't play that shit man_

 **Ian:** _Well I don't see anything wrong with it_

 **Mickey:** _I don't think we should be talking about us fucking in random secluded places. Even hypothetically_

 **Ian:** _You worried we're going to end up in a secluded place tomorrow? Haha_

 **Mickey:** _Why you always gotta be so inappropriate?_

 **Ian:** _You're still texting me so I don't think you really mind_

Defensiveness swelled inside of Mickey. Or maybe it was self-preservation, because he was very aware of himself going along with everything.

 **Mickey:** _Wth is all this? Why you texting me every night? Think I don't realize you're still trying to play me?_

 **Ian:** _Jesus. I just like you and I'm fucking lonely alright?_

 **Mickey:** _Me too_

 **Mickey:** _But then again I'm not fucking married_

 **Ian:**   _Its not like he's a normal spouse. I don't love him, Mick. I don't even like him._

 **Mickey:** _So you are going to leave him then?_

 **Ian:** _As soon as I possibly can. But it's complicated._

 **Mickey:** _You can't ever just be totally honest with me can you? I don't get it._

 **Mickey:** _Starting to think this is just some kinda fucking game to you._

 **Ian:** _Its not!_

 **Mickey:** _Well that's wtf it feels like Ian_

 **Ian:** _I'm sorry. Really it's nothing like that._

 **Mickey:** _Whatever man_

 **Mickey:** _Wish I could believe you but its kinda hard when you keep fucking dancing around shit_

 **Ian:** _Fair enough_

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes before quickly typing out his reply.

 **Mickey:** _Man how about you just fuck off ok?_

That seemed to do the trick considering he didn't get a reply.

 

*

The next day Mickey didn't even see Ian in the lobby. It almost felt strange getting in line to buy his coffee. And even stranger when he made it all the way upstairs without Ian popping up out of nowhere.

He spent most of his day distracted at work, alternating between wondering if the abnormal experience was over and why he even cared so much if it was. He spent his entire lunch break at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen, while he tried to unlock his own self. There were a few things he connected the dots on.

What he felt wasn't entirely unfamiliar.

Growing up, when life had felt empty or cold, he would chase down the rush he'd get from living life on the edge. And when he felt no control there was nothing more soothing than going out into the world and snatching whatever he wanted.

Life had been calm, had been borderline boring, for the last several years. It was initially difficult to ease into the straight and narrow way of life, but oddly enough the less illegal and immoral shit he did the easier it became to go about his day like any other mindless upstanding citizen. School had been stressful and distracting enough that the years had zipped by without giving him much time to think about the changes, or the things lacking. It was when he'd finished, when he'd settled into his first job, that he'd really had to face the fact that he was completely on his own, and had been for a long time.

He'd never exactly faced the world with anyone by his side, but growing up had been so eventful, his family had been so messy, that he'd never been able to sit and think about seeking out peace or happiness. He'd been conditioned to the shittiness of it all.

In the quiet of the last year, he'd been forced to think about life in a way that he'd never had before. He had all the time and solitude to analyze everything he'd ever been through, every version of himself he had been, and who he was now. It was endlessly upsetting and truthfully terrifying.

He was a strange hybrid of his former self and what he'd morphed into. Young Mickey still argued that he didn't need anything or anybody. That he would hustle his way into riches through his new found skills, and live out the rest of his days doing whatever the fuck he wanted in a nice ass condo.

But, new Mickey wanted to heal, wanted to be more than he'd ever dreamed of. This was the harder version to face; that he desired vulnerability in any form. He couldn't help it, though. There was no one or thing waiting for him at the end of the day. And the emptiness of that usually lead to him thinking about all the damage that he couldn't figure a way to repair.

Ian had brought him an exciting rush that was begging every day to get inside. Corrupting him again, in a way that doing risky things had used to when he was young. And undoubtedly making him feel out of control of his own self in a worse way than his lingering damage ever could.

Tip-toeing over the immoral line with Ian was the bbq pringles he needed to snatch from a shelf to take back some level of delusional control.

Mickey confirmed this theory later on that night when he was laying in bed, hoping to crash out early for once. His phone went off and he snatched it up as fast as he could, already preparing himself for the rush. When his eyes landed on Ian's name, and the words that followed it, he swore he took his first breath of the day.

 **Ian (9:46 p.m.):** _Hey Mick_

 **Mickey:** _Hey_

 **Mickey:** _Thought you were done with my ass_

 **Ian:** _Why would you think that?_

 **Mickey:** _Didn't see ya today. After last night I thought maybe you threw in the towel_

 **Ian:** _No I just thought maybe you needed a break from my smothering lol_

Mickey frowned and reached for the burning cigarette in the ashtray on his nightstand. He hadn't even considered just taking a step back away from each other. How was he so fucked up from this? He'd never let someone worm their way in so easily like this. Mickey chewed his bottom lip anxiously as all the honesty he had faced today came pressing forward with a need for release. He tried hard to shut off his instincts and let his thumbs do the walking, resulting in a larger text than he had meant.

 **Mickey:** _You've really screwed up my head man. Idk wtf to do. You being all secretive and shit just makes me wanna delete you from my life but that doesn't fucking feel right either. Cause I'm a mess that needs some shit to distract me. And I hate that you're fucking married and act so weird about it too. It's a god damn mindfuck. I've only known you for a few weeks and yet here I am every fucking night waiting for your text like a bitch. The fuck do I do?_

Mickey sent off the text and focused his attention on inhaling nicotine. He was grateful for their texting relationship, because it made it a lot easier to just vent his thoughts like this. And should they need to actually call it quits, if they couldn't find a middle ground, he could delete Ian's number and go in a little earlier to work. It would be so easy to just cut him out of his life completely. It would likely consume his thoughts for a while, but he had walked away from everything he'd ever known before. If he could do that, he could walk away from anything.

 **Ian:** _I wish I had the answers for you. I feel obsessed, which is not good for my mental health. I should be focusing on that and easing away from it. But, I can't stop. I need you to tell me to stop or I don't think I ever will. I feel so god damn pathetic lol_

Mickey had no idea what to say to that. Only more questions. So many questions. Thankfully, Ian sent another text before he felt obligated to reply.

 **Ian:** _Do you think maybe we could meet in person sometime? I'll tell you everything you want to know._

Mickey contemplated this for a long moment, which he knew was futile. His curiosity was way too strong to ever pass up an opportunity like that.

 **Mickey:** _Can ya honestly tell me something first?_

 **Ian:** _Anything. What do you want to know?_

 **Mickey:** _Do you think your husband loves you?_

 **Ian:** _No_

The answer had come so quickly that Mickey couldn't help but believe it. His curiosity practically vibrated now. He told himself not to get too excited about this, and that hearing everything might only make things worse. And yet, he couldn't help himself.

 **Mickey:** _Wanna meet after work?_

 **Ian:** _Friday nights are the best for me_

 **Mickey:** _Ok yeah let's try that_

 **Ian:** _Awesome!_

 **Mickey:** _Yeah whatever lol Can we leave this heavy shit alone now? How was your day?_

 **Ian:** _It sucked. But it's ending well :)_

 

*

Ian stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waste and trying hard not to berate himself for a lack of control that had taken over nearly every shower he'd had in the last couple of weeks. His showers had always been his time for release, and he had been trying hard not to think of Mickey while he did so, yet he always ended up back on the brunette. Friends didn't think about friends that way, he always told himself. And still he had let himself indulge in imagined scenarios with Mickey, again, until he was making a mess he had to wash down the drain.

It was fine, he told himself. No one knew.

_Not gonna be your shameful little secret._

Ian sighed as he combed out his hair, making a wish that this crush would leave his system eventually. He was scared he would ruin everything and lose the one person that made him feel less alone.

He dressed in a pair of sweats and headed out into the wide open condo, surprised to find Liam sitting at the coffee table in the living room with papers and books spread out over it.

“Hey,” breathed Ian as he dropped onto the couch beside him, “What're you doing up?”

“Had homework to finish still,” murmured Liam while he finished filling out a column on the paper directly in front of him. “Someone texted you.”

Ian's stomach danced as he quickly snatched his phone from the coffee table where he had left it.

 **Mickey (9:54 p.m.):** _Shocked you haven't texted me yet_

Ian smiled, sitting back into the plush couch, as he typed out a reply.

 **Ian** **(10:18 p.m.):** _Oh? Why's that?_

 **Mickey:** _You always text me after 930. Thought you died or something._

Ian snorted and Liam glanced back at him, though his eyes didn't linger when he saw the phone in his hand.

 **Ian:** _Sorry for the delay then. Just took a really nice long hot shower :)_

 **Mickey:** _Oh. Don't gotta tell me that shit man._

 **Ian:** _Apparently I do or you'll think I'm dead [tongue face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _“long” and “hot” don't gotta be in there_

Ian grinned and glanced towards the closed door to the master bedroom.

 **Ian:** _I'm sorry, Mick. I didn't mean to make you picture me naked and wet and soapy_ _[winky face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _You fuckin suck._

Ian's face flushed and he bit his lip to try to prevent his grin from splitting his face in two. He decided to push it a little.

 **Ian:** _Probably shouldn't tell you what I did in there then. Or what I was thinking about while I did._

 **Mickey:** _Wtf Ian_

 **Mickey:** _You're the worst lol_

Ian typed out and erased several messages before deciding on one.

 **Ian:** _Do you need to shower now too?_

Mickey returned the middle finger emoji, which Ian was sure was his favorite. He chuckled quietly and gave it a moment before texting again.

 **Ian:** _Need some material? I thought of some really hot shit while I was in there._

 **Mickey:** _Fuck off_

 **Mickey:** _Like you didn't already give me material anyways [eye rolling emoji]_

Ian quirked a brow and sunk down into the couch again, wondering if it would be suspicious to his little brother if he went back into the shower. How he longed to have his own bed to jack off in as much as he wanted. What a pathetic wish, he thought.

 **Ian:** _Now you got me thinking about getting back in mine._

 **Mickey:** _Ready for round two huh?_

Liam suddenly stood and collected all of his homework, yawning. He gave Ian a quick goodnight before wandering off to his room at the other side of the condo. Ian took a moment to shut off all the lights in the home before returning to the couch, fully prepared to text Mickey until he fell asleep.

 **Ian:** _I was the second I stepped out._

 **Mickey:** _Yeah? Got some good stamina, Red?_

Ian uncontrollably flashed back to the fantasies he had built in his mind while in the shower and he drew in a stabilizing breath as he typed a reply.

 **Ian:** _Wish I could show you just how much. I would wreck you._

 **Mickey:** _Jfc Ian Lol Gettin a lil worked up?_

Ian let out a breath as he glanced down to the truth of that accusation. He was glad his brother had gone to bed, given his sweats weren't helping to hide anything.

 **Ian:** _Kinda can't help it with you. I get worked up just thinking about ya._

A long silence set in and Ian found his arousal leaving him as worry took over. He turned to lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell his life even was anymore.

He wanted his freedom back so badly anymore, and it was hard not to fall into a never ending pit of despair when he considered there was no end in sight.

 **Mickey:** _Why do you always text me after 930?_

Ian frowned, feeling vines slither out from inside the pit to wrap tightly around him.

 **Ian:** _It's when he goes to bed._

He knew this was the end of the little bit of fun they were having, before it even happened. Still, long after Mickey stopped texting him back he laid on the couch with a racing, cruel mind that wouldn't let him rest properly. He really hated his life.

 

*

Mickey was having such a crappy day. It seemed every second there was some new stress dropped into his cubicle. It was around three p.m. when his eyes felt like they were about to start bleeding. He sat back, pressing the heels of his palms into them, and stretched his back with a groan. He reached for the energy drink he had gotten from the break room an hour earlier and noticed a light flashing on his phone.

He was genuinely surprised to find a text from Ian, _during the day_.

 **Ian (2:36 p.m.):** _Got you a coffee this morning but I didn't see ya :(_

 **Mickey (3:03 p.m.):**   _Sorry man I should've told ya we all went in really early this morning_

 **Ian:**   _Oh it's cool! Just wanted to make sure you weren't avoiding me_

 **Mickey:** _Nah just got a killer deadline_

 **Ian:** _That sucks :(_

 **Ian:** _So did you end up taking that shower last night?_ _[winky-face emoji]_

Mickey let out a laugh and almost rolled his eyes. The dude really was relentless.

 **Mickey:** _That's none of your damn business_

Ian's reply came right away, as if he had been waiting for Mickey to text him back.

 **Ian:** _Come on, Mick, give me some new material for mine later on._

Mickey grinned, shaking his head a bit as he reached for his drink. He sipped it, contemplating just how to reply and maybe it was because of his shitty day and a need for escape, but he gave in a bit.

 **Mickey:** _Let's just say I was in mine for a half hour_

 **Ian:** _Mmm. Were you satisfied when you got out?_

 **Mickey:** _Nah. Had to go for round two in my bed. Called in some extra tools._

 **Ian:** _Holy shit that's so hot. Tell me everything!! Every detail!_

Mickey's face flushed, so he leaned forward on his desk in fear that anyone passing by would notice his suspicious appearance.

 **Mickey:** _How bout I leave that to your imagination?_

 **Ian:** _Please, Mick. I'm having a bad day. Could use something good to think about._

 **Mickey:** _You too huh? Today sucks._

 **Ian:** _It really does :( Was reminded tomorrow is gonna suck, too._

 **Mickey:** _Why's that?_

 **Ian:** _Gotta “work” and I'm really not in the mood._

Mickey's brow furrowed tightly at the quotations. Why were they there?

 **Ian:** _Why's your day sucking?_

 **Mickey:** _Coworker called off and its crunch time so the boss lost his shit. We're all trying to pick up the slack to tame the beast._

 **Ian:** _Fucking great._

That was a surprisingly passionate reply, considered Mickey with confusion. He wasn't even sure what to say to that, but it didn't matter when Ian texted again.

 **Ian:** _Can we please get back to the tools you used? :) What were they? Did you drill yourself?_ _[winky face emoji]_

Mickey couldn't believe him, or the smile that stretched across his own face. He checked the time and sighed quietly.

 **Mickey:** _Gotta get back to work_

Ian replied with a crying-face emoji and Mickey chuckled. So dramatic.

 **Mickey:** _My go-to drill is six inches curved and vibrates, k? Now let me work._

Ian's quick reply had Mickey's mouth falling open and his sights blurring a bit.

 **Ian:** _Fuck now I'm hard_

 **Ian:** _Gonna have to keep hiding in the bathroom_ _[tongue face emoji]_

“Better pay attention, Mickey,” interrupted a female voice that had him dropping his phone and looking up guiltily.

“To what? Why? What do you mean?” rattled off Mickey quickly.

Amy sent him a confused look from where she stood on the other side of the cubicle wall. She pointed and he stood up, losing any hint of good feelings from Ian's texts at the sight of his boss standing directly outside of his office with his arms crossed.

John's gaze zipped across the open room and he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly.

“I'm just going to steal a moment of your time,” he spoke in his usual commanding voice, “I just wanted to remind those of you working on the  _Future Sun_  software that we're going to need something to present by Monday, so let's really buckle down on the first phase.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at the wrong damn time, considering John locked his authoritative gaze onto him and raised his voice a bit more, “Got a problem with that, Milkovich?”

“No, sir,” replied Mickey flatly, while Amy gave him a nervous glance.

“Good, because this is the way it is. Don't like it? You can leave.”

Mickey nodded mindlessly, clenching his jaw shut tightly.

“I was also asked to remind everyone of the company party tomorrow,” continued John with a stupid smile suddenly blossoming, as if he was giving them a gift. “Now, it _is_ mandatory, but you're encouraged to bring your family.”

John's eyes returned to Mickey once more and his smile was purely mocking as he rudely added, “Those of you that have families, I mean.”

Mickey really wondered how he hadn't punched his boss yet. The day would surely come if he kept poking him like this.

“Let's try to get our work finished tonight, so we can all really enjoy the party, alright?”

Impossible. John Woods was a fucking moron.

“That'll be all,” dismissed John with a smile Mickey knew they all wanted to slap off of his face.

“Shit,” hissed Damon quietly, “We're gonna have to work overtime.”

"At least we got a jump start this morning," offered Amy.

Mickey dropped back into his chair, still annoyed by his boss's condescending behavior and not really caring to socialize with his coworkers. He shook his leg in an attempt to keep his anger at bay. He glanced at his phone and pulled in an unstable breath as he reopened his message thread with Ian.

 **Mickey:** _I fuckin hate my boss so much. He's such an asshole._

 **Ian:** _What'd he do?_

 **Ian:** _Doesn't matter, I hate him too. Fuck that guy._

Mickey smiled and felt some of his tension dissolve. This last week in particular had left him feeling grateful for Ian's persistence. He might be the only thing that made him smile anymore.

 **Mickey:** _Just be happy you don't work for his dumb ass. Also I don't think I'm gonna be free tonight to hang out_

 **Ian:** _Oh okay_

 **Ian:** _Maybe next friday then?_

 **Mickey:** _Sure. Gotta work now, firecrotch. How bout you leave me a good text to come back to when I'm done with my work?_

 **Ian:** _Like what? :)_

 **Mickey:** _Like tell me what you did with that hard on_

Mickey resisted the urge to look at his phone when a reply came almost immediately after. His phone vibrated multiple times in the next hour, and he smiled every single time it did, even while he worked nonstop.

 

*

Mickey was totally drained by the time he made it home late that night. He barely had enough energy to inhale some food before he stripped away his suit and collapsed in bed. His face wasn't in his pillow for three minutes when his phone vibrated against his nightstand loudly. With a loud groan, he rolled over onto his side and grabbed it. He really wasn't disappointed with what he found.

_**Ian:** _So why'd you have to cancel tonight?_ _

Mickey rubbed his eyes to wake them up more before he replied.

 **Mickey:** _To finish enough of the software to show the dumb customer on monday morning. Fucking exhausted man_

 **Ian:** _Sounds rough :( Did you guys get it done?_

 **Mickey:** _Enough to shut my asshole boss up lol_

 **Ian:** _Nicely done :) You should go to bed. I'll try not to blow up your phone for once [tongue face emoji]_

Mickey snorted and nuzzled into his pillow a little more as he mindlessly typed a reply that was virtually an invitation for Ian to continue texting him. He was too tired to pretend he didn't want that.

 **Mickey:** _Nah it's cool. I'm already in bed anyhow_

 **Ian:** _Oh yeah? I don't believe you. You should send me a pic as proof [grinning emoji]_

Mickey smiled widely and shook his head. This was the first time Ian had suggested anything like that.

 **Mickey:** _Fuck off lol I'm not sending you pics_

Ian sent about eight praying hands emojis and Mickey only smiled wider.

 **Mickey:** _Why you want a pic of me?_

 **Ian:** _Cause I didn't get to see you this morning_

Mickey's stomach fluttered and he seriously began considering taking a picture to send. Was that too much? He received another text before he could decide.

 **Ian:** _Missed that scowling face :(_

 **Mickey:** _Screw you man I don't always scowl_

 **Ian:** _Oh? Is that just for me then? [winky face emoji]_

Mickey laughed and rolled onto his back. He didn't understand why it even surprised him anymore that Ian had the power to always break him down. He opened his camera and took a quick picture of his best scowl, making sure to hold it away far enough to give the middle finger, as well.

He sent it off before he could second-guess his decision and shut off his phone screen, so he couldn't judge the picture too much. His phone buzzed soon after though. Then again.

The first was several beaming-smile emojis with one at the end that had heart eyes.

 **Ian:** _Thank you I feel so much better now! Haha :)_

Mickey blushed and rolled his eyes, quickly typing a reply.

 **Mickey:** _Such a fuckin weirdo. Where's mine?_

His phone was quiet for a bit and Mickey's mind tormented him with the thought that Ian was done for the night, not that he was obviously taking a picture for him. When the picture popped up in the text thread he felt four-times more awake.

Ian seemed to be lounging on a couch, grinning like a happy goof, without a shirt. Mickey enlarged the photo and his eyes zipped around every single pixel of it. His chest and arms were even more toned than he'd thought, which had Mickey swallowing roughly, and curious of what the rest of him looked like.

He could see just the top of some sort of tattoo on Ian's side that really had him intrigued. And apparently he had a lot of freckles on his shoulders, which made Mickey wonder if there were big clusters of freckles anywhere else.

Mickey's phone buzzed, interrupting his observation and giving him a blip of guilt.

 **Ian:** _Sorry I'm not as bright and shiny as I am in the morning haha_

 **Mickey:** _You look good to me_

Mickey nearly smacked himself for that dumb reply, but Ian texted again fast enough to distract him.

 **Ian:** _Yeah? :) I could show you more if you'd like_

 **Mickey:** _Don't fucking tease me man lol_

 **Ian:** _Who's teasing? I meant it._

Mickey found himself sitting up as a wave of excitement had him feeling like he needed to do something—anything. Suddenly, another picture popped up in the thread that left him speechless and frozen.

This one was mostly just of his torso, all the way down to the top of his grey sweats that were dangerously low. Mickey eyed Ian's v-lines with hunger, a strong need to lick them had him practically salivating.

 **Ian:** _More?_

Mickey's brain was too tired and horny to even understand what that meant until another picture loaded, this time with his sweats pulled down one hip, showing off a dangerous amount of skin so close to what was obviously a semi-hard erection inside of his sweats.

 **Mickey:** _Holy shit_

 **Mickey:** _Whoa hold up_

 **Mickey:** _Should we be doing this?_

Mickey really needed guidance in this moment, because his thoughts now seemed to be running through his dick, which was never a smart approach to any situation. All he could think about was pulling down Ian's sweats the rest of the way and licking whatever was beneath.

 **Ian:** _Idk I just want you really bad right now_

 **Mickey:** _Fuck and I want you_

 **Mickey:** _You're fucking hot Ian_

 **Ian:** _But..? Should I send more? [Winky face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _Jfc I really want you to but you're married_

 **Mickey:** _This is why the fuck I didn't want to text you in the first place_

 **Ian:** _I think you've realized by now that I don't have a conventional marriage, Mick. I don't even know if he'd care if I fucked you senseless._

 **Mickey:** _Well find out asap ffs_

 **Ian:** _[crying-laughing face emoji]_ _I like horny Mickey._

 **Mickey:** _I think you'd like him a lot more in person, so talk to the ball and chain about it_

 **Ian:** _Jesus. You're right I want to see this in person. I'll talk to him._

Just the possibility had Mickey's mind wandering desperately to watch his fantasies take shape. He thought about being in that living room with Ian. He was then so far caught up that he thought about climbing onto the lap in the photo and let his hand snake down into his boxers. He was already somewhat hard and aching enough that his own touch had him quietly gasping.

Mickey leaned into it, shutting his eyes, and letting the exhaustion of the day relax the rest of his body. It wasn't going to take long, he realized only a couple minutes into stroking himself. When he heard his phone buzz his eyes shot open and he swore he felt a little high. He drew in a long steadying breath and turned his phone screen back on.

 **Ian:** _Are you touching yourself?_

A powerful mix of being-caught and extra arousal shot through him. He quivered through the pleasure and bit his lip roughly as his thumb worked, slipping across the buttons to made a words pop up in the thread.

 **Mickey:** _Fuck off_

 **Ian:** _Me too_

Mickey's eyes widened and his whole body paused. He didn't think he could be anymore aroused than he already had been, but as he pictured Ian laying on that couch out in the open stroking his cock, he found himself panting with need. He barely found the strength to type a reply.

 **Mickey:** _Aren't you in your living room?_

 **Ian:** _Yeah but I can't stop Mickey. Want you so bad and I'm so hard_

“Fuck,” breathed Mickey.

His pathway to go back to sanity crumbled as he read those words. He was in it now. He couldn't think about anything other than getting off. Dropping his phone on the bed he quickly pulled open the drawer to his nightstand and grabbed the warming lube he defaulted to with masturbation.

Mickey pulled his boxers down enough to free himself and carelessly squirted some into his non-dominant hand. He swore aloud again when he wrapped it around his stiff erection, momentarily shutting his eyes as he began to stroke himself again. When he felt pleasure flickering inside himself again he opened his eyes and grabbed his phone, scrolling back up to the last picture Ian had sent, and let his eyes roam Ian's body slowly.

The extra sensations from the lube kicked in pretty quickly, his body swayed a bit as his skin tingled pleasantly. A text suddenly popped up, yanking the text thread back to the bottom.

 **Ian:** _Are you looking at my pics?_

Mickey really was high off of the mixture of tiredness and arousal as he didn't think twice before replying.

 **Mickey:** _Yes_

 **Ian:** _Shit that turns me on so much, Mick_

Mickey nodded his head and licked his lips, as he applied more pressure in his approach, feeling confident in his fantasies of the redhead.

Another picture popped up and Mickey was on fire at the sight of it. He grunted as another strong wave of pleasure zipped through him. This picture was of Ian with his hand in his sweats, obviously holding onto himself inside.

 **Mickey:** _Fuck that's so hot_

 **Ian:** _Are you gonna cum Mickey?_

Mickey let out a groan, chasing his orgasm more aggressively as he felt it approaching faster and faster. His phone fell from his grasp, but he kept his eyes on it as an barrage of texts poured in from Ian.

 **Ian:** _Wish I could fucking see you_

 **Ian:** _I bet you look so hot touching yourself_

 **Ian:** _I wanna make you cum_

 **Ian:** _Think about it all the time Mick_

 **Ian:** _Say the word and I'd suck your cock anywhere anytime_

 **Ian:** _I want it so bad_

Mickey came with a loud grunt. He shut his eyes tight as he rode it out, pushing himself to keep going and going until he was spent. He fell back on his pillow while he tried to catch his breath, looking to his ceiling while the pleasure slowly eased away. He absentmindedly wiped his hand on his muscle shirt before pulling it off and tossing it off into the room. He snuggled back into his bed and ran his other hand over his face before he reached for his phone.

 **Ian:** _Did you cum for me Mick? Tell me you came_

 **Mickey:** _Jesus Ian_

 **Mickey:** _I fucking came alright reading those texts_

 **Ian:** _Holy shit_

 **Ian:** _I'm gonna cum too_

Mickey swallowed roughly and wondered if he should try to talk dirty to him, too, to return the very enjoyable favor. Before he could even try, though, Ian texted again.

 **Ian:** _Fuck Mick_

 **Ian:** _Want you so bad it didn't even take much lol_

Another picture appeared and Mickey's brows went up in surprise at the evidence of Ian's orgasm on his hand and sweats. He wouldn't be deleting that picture any time soon.

While he studied every detail of it his exhaustion came rolling back in, even stronger now. He snuggled back into his pillow and only managed to kind of read one last text before his eyes fell closed.

 **Ian:** _Really wish we could've met up today. Can't wait until next friday lol_

 

*

When Mickey woke up the next morning he laid in bed with a sting of shock for several moments, practically paralyzed by the reality. He fished out his phone from his blankets to confirm he and Ian had really done that, and not that it was just a really good dream. What he found, though, was a new text from Ian. And it was not what he expected.

 **Ian (6:03 a.m.):** _Hey I just wanted to say thanks for last night, it was fun :) And to let you know that I'm going to be at that party later at Woods Tech. Feel like I should give you a heads up since I'll be with my husband. Excited to see you though. Please try not to hate me.lol Anyhow have a good day!_

 


	5. Don't You Know Too Much Already I'll Only Hurt You If You Let Me

 

Mickey read Ian's text at least a dozen times and still every time it gave him an unbalanced mix of feelings. As if he didn't want to go to the dumb party already, now he'd have to see Ian and his husband. Great.

Although, there was a part of him that did want to finally see Ian's husband to size up his competition, but the words, “ _please try not to hate me_ ,” had him concerned. Seeing Ian's husband wasn't going to change anything, he'd already known of his existence, so what did it matter what the dude looked like?

Mickey rubbed his face irritably, while considering that this situation might break his brain, and decided to just go with the flow. He couldn't really do anything about it, so there was no sense in torturing himself.

He spent his day drinking coffee and playing video games to distract him as much as possible. He texted a bit with Mandy and did his best to resist thinking about Ian. Each time he failed he would reread the strange text, before scrolling through last nights text exchange. The pictures alone had him unbelievably aroused all over again, so by the time he got in the shower he had to take care of himself. It didn't help that every single time he was in the shower, now, he would think of Ian in his own.

This only left him more hopeful that Ian's husband was into the idea of an open relationship. Shit, maybe he'd get his answer tonight on that matter.

Mickey dressed in one of his suits for work, though he did consciously choose the blue tie that he knew made his eyes pop. And took extra time styling his hair just right.

Once he was doused in his cologne and somewhat pleased with his appearance he headed out early, to go to Damon's. They had planned to carpool, with his lovely wife offering to be the designated driver, which Mickey was ever grateful for. If he'd have to be in the same room with all the big-wigs of the company for the night then he would need a few stiff drinks.

Val greeted him at the front door with a nearly violent kiss to his cheek, and a cheerful, “Mickey! Missed you! Come in, come in, come in!”

“Thanks, Val,” chuckled Mickey as he breezed past her into the house, “Nice to see you, too.”

“Are you ready to party?” sang Val through her endearing thick accent as she shook her shoulders in a giddy way.

He let out a laugh and returned, “With our bosses? Not really.”

“Ah, come on, we'll make it fun!” insisted Val with a wink, and Mickey laughed more.

At least he'd be facing this hell with Damon and Val. They always made things more bearable.

 

*

They arrived to find the lobby mostly filled with people in black tie attire, and subtle, minimalist, Christmas decor throughout it. At Mickey's old job they actually had fun holiday parties. There were normal, cheesy decorations, and gift exchanges, as well as all the classic Christmas foods—including a spiked eggnog. _This_ overdone, boring cocktail party, was exactly what he should've expected from Woods Tech.

Mickey's eyes uncontrollably scanned the entire room for red hair, but he didn't see him. Maybe he hadn't arrived yet, considered Mickey as he followed Damon and Val towards the bar that was set up where the food carts normally were.

There were dozens of round tables at this end of the lobby, with white table cloths and small arrangements of pine garland and white candles.

The three of them got drinks from the bar and Val motioned to sit at one of the unoccupied tables. As the couple chatted about something in a different language, Mickey let his eyes scan the crowds again. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink, with an annoying urge to text Ian and ask about his whereabouts.

Damon suddenly chuckled deeply and asked, “Your guy supposed to be here tonight?”

Mickey looked down in hopes of hiding the answer that was so obvious in his expression.

“You have a guy?” questioned Val excitedly with big brown eyes that were impossible to ignore. She leaned over Damon and questioned, “Why don't I know this?”

“He's not mine,” dismissed Mickey grumpily, “Just been talking to him a lot, is all.”

“He's here? Where?”

“I don't think he's here yet.”

“So he _is_ coming to the party! Knew it!” said Damon with a grin, “That's why you're looking extra put together, huh?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and shrugged, burying himself into his drink a little more. The couple exchanged more words in Spanish that Mickey didn't understand, but he knew it was about him, so he shot them a suspicious glare that only resulted in the other two laughing.

Amy found them a few minutes later and introduced them to her girlfriend with a nervous bounce that had Damon and Mickey exchanging amused looks.

“Sit, sit, sit!” said Val, patting the table enthusiastically.

The other two women sat and Amy leaned forward to say, “So glad we have you guys, at least. I don't even recognize half of the people here.”

“That's because there's a bunch of clients here,” explained another voice, prompting everyone to look behind Mickey. “And potential clients. They're trying to schmooze them.”

Ellison was looking grumpy as usual, holding onto a glass of wine like it was his life-line.

“This isn't just a holiday party, it's an excuse for the board members to mingle with potential money bags. We need an influx, as soon as possible.”

“The fuck for?” questioned Mickey, “This company is booming just fine.”

“They're talking about expanding, but you didn't hear that from me.”

“Are we moving?” asked Damon.

“We'll see,” shrugged Ellison, “There's talks of that empty building on 3rd. There's roughly ten floors there.”

“I mean, I don't know shit about real estate, but shouldn't we be able to afford a move like that?”

“It's more for the company growth. Personnel, equipment, and so on,” explained Ellison.

“Hey, maybe we won't have to be on the same floor as the spawn of satan, anymore,” suggested Amy, just loud enough for Mickey to hear across the table.

They all chuckled and Mickey returned, “Like we'd ever be so lucky. I think he likes annoying us too much.”

Everyone agreed with a mixture of grumbles and laughs, which quickly transformed into a quiet bitchfest of the last two weeks. Val even had a few choice words on the situation that only made Mickey adore her more.

When time had worn on enough that Mickey polished off the last of his drink, he offered to buy Damon and Val another round and stood to head back to the bar. He was standing in line with a hand in one pocket of his slacks when he finally noticed someone familiar in his peripherals.

Ian was on the opposite end of the lobby, where security normally was, chatting with someone enthusiastically, like what they were saying was the greatest thing he'd ever heard. He looked perfect, like always, in his slim expensive looking suit. Although, as Mickey studied him the best he could from such a far distance, last nights pictures of Ian's bare torso filled his vision.

As if Ian had sensed his hard staring, he suddenly looked past the person he was speaking to and made eye contact with Mickey across the building. His over-enthused smile melted into a sincere one and he sent Mickey a nod that had him awkwardly raising a hand in a half-wave motion. Ian's smile grew before he returned his eyes back to the old man he was speaking to.

Mickey swallowed his heart back down just in time to step up to the bar to place his order, somehow managing to find his voice.

The music that had been drifting throughout the lobby suddenly cut off, and a familiar voice spoke greeting into a microphone. Mickey stifled a groan as he turned to look for his boss.

John Woods was standing at the opposite end of the lobby, in front of an over-sized christmas tree that sparkled with white lights. He flashed a bright smile to the crowd as he gripped the microphone in his hand and spoke, “Welcome, everyone! I'm only going to take a moment of your time, so we can get on to dancing and eating way more shrimp than our bodies should allow...”

A chunk of the crowd erupted in laughter, while Mickey rolled his eyes back to the table of his friends. Not a single smile was found there, and Damon was looking back at Mickey with annoyance plain on his face. This made Mickey smile a bit as he returned his eyes to his boss.

“I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for the hard work you do, the support from the others, and hopefully a long-lasting relationship with those of you that are meeting us for the first time tonight. My family—“ John paused, glancing around until he spotted something and smiled brighter. He motioned his hand and someone quickly moved out of the crowd towards him.

Mickey felt like the ground was abruptly yanked out from under his feet as he watched Ian walk to John's side with that big enthused smile on his face, again. John slipped a hand around to Ian's back and Mickey thought maybe he'd stopped breathing. He couldn't blink, couldn't take his eyes off of the confusing situation. What the fuck was he even looking at?

“My family wants to wish yours a happy holidays,” continued John, though his voice now sounded miles away to Mickey, “And thank you for joining us in celebrating ours. Please, enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Clapping sounded out in the room from the crowds and Mickey jumped a bit as his ears seemed to suddenly work again, which only made the crowd's clapping sound thunderous. He still couldn't move, though. His eyes burned from not blinking, or maybe from the horrid sight of John leaning in to speak into Ian's ear before placing an intimate kiss on his cheek.

Ian smiled warmly at John and spoke something in return before leaning closer to leave a peck on John's lips.

Mickey felt nauseated. His body was burning up with disgust and confusion that left him feeling clammy and dizzy. And when John turned to leave his announcement spot with Ian following in tow Mickey realized his hands were shaking. He couldn't look away. He couldn't even move.

But, when Ian greeted someone he passed by it brought his eyes to Mickey's direction enough that they slipped away from them and instead landed on Mickey. A quick jab of pain to Mickey's chest had him taking a breath at last, which only shook his body more.

In a way that Mickey never would've thought possible, Ian became paler and paler as his phony smile dropped away. He looked exactly how Mickey felt. His green eyes were wide and his mouth opened, as if he also didn't know how to handle the situation. He watched as Ian's head began to subtly shake back and forth and something suddenly broke in Mickey.

He turned around and started walking, unsure of where he was even going. He just knew he needed to get the hell away—far, far, far away. He spied a glass door with a small black sign in front of it that had a picture of a cigarette with an arrow. He walked faster and faster, reaching into the inner pocket of his sport jacket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes before he'd even reached the cold outside air.

Mickey's hands were still shaking wildly as he put the cigarette to his lips and lit it. He looked to his right and found himself looking through the endless windows into the party, his eyes uncontrollably finding Ian again, who was back to enthusiastically chatting with guests, and had to look away as he sucked in another hit, and another, and another.

He looked to his left and gratefully realized he was in a dimly lit alleyway. And just on the other side of the door he had left through, the building turned to solid stone. He quickly moved to that wall, needing to hide from the existence of the entire party.

Mickey sucked down his whole cigarette and didn't feel even remotely calmer, so he lit another one, shoving the butt of his first into the metal receptacle that sat next to the door.

He couldn't even form a thought to work through what he'd just witnessed. His body was too busy screaming at him to run away, as far away as possible.

When the door suddenly popped open he jumped and looked to it in fear. Thankfully, it was Damon who stepped out, looking confused and sympathetic.

“Holy shit,” he hissed, “Mickey, what the _fuck_?”

A hysterical laugh jumped from Mickey's mouth and he felt his eyes burn again.

“I don't fuckin' know,” spat Mickey, and an amazing amount of rage suddenly zipped through his body. It was a very welcome change to the weakness he had been feeling, so he leaned into it, “I had no fucking idea, Damon. I knew he was married, but I didn't know he was married to that fuckin' asshole!”

“You knew he was married?” asked Damon with surprise.

“Yeah, found out at the Alibi,” Mickey paused, taking a large hit from his cigarette, “That shithead has been fuckin' with my head since day one, but I thought I finally had most of the truth. I thought I'd finally understood and that was hard enough, but—I can't believe he didn't fuckin' tell me! What the fuck is wrong with him? How could he keep that from me?”

Mickey's hand went to his eyes as his vision flashed red, his hands now shook with anger and he resisted the urge to turn them to fists and hit the building.

“Fuck, Damon, if John saw the texts we were sending each other last night, my life would be completely fucked.”

“It'll be okay, man,” offered Damon, “I'm sure he didn't. And you know now, so you can just walk the fuck away from that mess, right?”

Mickey nodded mindlessly, but spoke, “I don't think I can survive this party without doin' something stupid. I'm going to kick his ass, I swear. Him or his piece of shit _husband_ , I can't fuckin' decide.”

“Okay, right, let me talk to Val and we'll get out of here as soon as possible, okay?”

Mickey nodded again, several times, and blew out a breath of fiery rage.

“How about you go splash some cold water on your face in the meantime, alright?”

Mickey agreed that was a good idea and smashed his cigarette into the metal receptacle.

 

**

Ian was really trying his best, his hardest, to pay attention to what Mr. Edwards was saying, but it was impossible. He nodded his head mindlessly, smiling his best showman smile, but his mind was stuck on the other side of the building.

“Oh, and the kids just love the timeshare. Diana doesn't really like the boat, but there's a spa she loves. You and John really have to join us next time.”

Ian nodded again, though his eyes flickered back to the door he saw Mickey evacuate through. He couldn't stop seeing Mickey's face; his devastated, horrified, expression. It was worse than Ian had ever imagined it being.

It was over. All of it. There was no way that Mickey was going to even talk to him again after looking at him like that. It was exactly what Ian had feared since first meeting Mickey. He had always known that the second he found out he was married to John he would run in the opposite direction.

“Do you two have plans for Christmas?”

Ian nodded again, still not paying attention, as he wondered when he could possibly get the chance to explain everything to Mickey. If he knew everything, he'd be at least a little empathetic, he was sure of it. This wasn't exactly the place to talk, though. Maybe he could call him after John went to bed.

Ian was planning on the best place in his condo to have a secret phone conversation, seriously considering their balcony, when he realized that Mr. Edwards had stopped speaking and was staring at him with a confused look. He looked like he was waiting for something.

Suddenly, a hand was on his back. He looked to John just as he glided up beside him and smiled at Mr. Edwards.

“I'll be going out to Seattle for Christmas weekend to visit my family,” he spoke, “Ian usually stays to spend the holiday with his.”

“You don't spend Christmas together?” questioned Mr. Edwards with a quizzical tilt of his head.

“We celebrate together beforehand,” lied John, “It's hard to choose between the families, you know. And unfortunately, they're both inflexible with their dates, so we have to do it this way.”

“Ah, yes. Diana's family is greedy like that. My family usually hosts Thanksgiving, so it's divided. You two are still young, you'll probably end up hosting once you have kids. Do you two plan on having kids?”

The whole time they spoke Ian was distracted for another reason; John's fingertips pressing into his side somewhat aggressively. He fucked up. He was in trouble.

“Absolutely,” chimed John, “We just wanted a couple years all to ourselves first.”

John leaned in to press a kiss to Ian's cheek and his fingers pressed harder, squeezing him. He quickly shot John a smile, before returning his gaze to Mr. Edwards.

“You have to get in the honeymoon years first, right?” Ian practically sang.

Mr. Edwards beamed and nodded, “Diana and I unfortunately didn't get that before the first pup was born. You two are lucky that you don't have to worry about that.”

“Yeah, we really are,” grinned Ian.

“Well, I better go hunt my wife down and make sure she's not eating the entire seafood bar.”

Ian and John both chuckled as Mr. Edwards laughed to himself and moseyed away. The second he was out of earshot, concern shot through Ian. He glanced at John, who immediately turned towards him.

“Sorry,” murmured Ian.

John was still smiling, but this was his party smile. Ian knew what was hiding behind it. He swallowed his worry as John leaned in to his ear.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” repeated Ian immediately, quietly. He turned his head and raised a hand to the side of John's face, in what would seem like an intimate gesture to anyone else at the party, and leaned in to speak into John's ear, “I think the shrimp isn't sitting well with me, but I didn't want to tell him that.”

John pulled away to look into Ian's eyes with obvious speculation. A moment passed of this, as if he was actually searching for the lie inside of Ian.

“Go ask Elizabeth for some tums, alright?”

Ian nodded, forcing his smile wider, and gave John's jaw one more soft stroke of his thumb before he departed to search for John's receptionist, Elizabeth. He'd have to follow through on this lie and eat some antacids. John would question her about it later if not. Anyways, he really did feel sick, but it had nothing to do with the shrimp.

His eyes went back to that door to the smoking area outside. How was he supposed to resist speaking to Mickey at all, when he was choking on all of the apologies and explanations he desperately needed to give the man?

 

**

When Damon opened the door for him, and he was hit with the sounds of chatter and music inside, he felt himself switch over to autopilot. He didn't really remember his journey across the lobby, just the floor moving beneath his feet, as he suddenly found himself in front of the bathrooms in the hall where the elevators were. He took in a breath as he pushed open the swinging door, entering a restroom with an annoying amount of assholes in suits pissing into urinals. He made a beeline for the sinks and took up the one at the far end.

Once he cupped cold water in his hands and leaned down to throw it up onto his face he felt a shudder of relief move through him. He did it again, and again, and again, chasing the need to drown himself in it.

The sound of someone chuckling had him opening his eyes and coming up for air. At the sink beside him was an amused observer, washing his hands as he watched Mickey.

“The fuck you lookin' at?” grumbled Mickey.

The older man only laughed more and teased, “Had too many drinks already?”

Mickey scowled and reached for the paper towel dispenser, yanking out two to press to his face.

“Interesting _prison_ tattoos, by the way,” spoke the grey-haired nosy man. “Think they need touched up, though.”

“Tryin' to let them fade, until I can get 'em removed,” murmured Mickey into his paper towels.

“Seems like a good tool of intimidation you don't see in the tech world very often. You do work here, right?”

Mickey sighed irritably and bundled up the paper towels to throw them away.

“The fuck do you care?” returned Mickey as he found the man was long-finished and just standing there, smiling at him endlessly, “Can I fuckin' help you with something?”

“Depends,” murmured the man, as his eyes unmistakably wandered down Mickey with interest, “Would you like to?”

Mickey's brows shot right up to his forehead and he glanced around the buzzing of the rest of the restroom. He leaned closer to the man and questioned under his breath, “Are you propositioning me right now?”

“I like your whole vibe,” nodded the man, with a hand that motioned to Mickey's entire body, “Wouldn't mind getting to know it better.”

“Well, I'm not interested.”

“You sure? I could sweeten the deal for you,” returned the stranger with a confident smile that said he was more than used to getting what he wanted.

“Look, dude, I'm havin' a weird fuckin' night, that's apparently getting weirder by the second, so how about you fuck off before I snap, alright?”

The man only smiled wider and let out an appreciative hum. Mickey rolled his eyes and pushed past him to leave the restroom. As soon as he stepped back out into the party he wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do, now. He had to get back to Damon and Val.

Mickey took a breath of preparation and headed back towards the large crowds he would need to _politely_ fight his way through. He began to squeeze through people, murmuring, “Excuse me, please.”

He'd only made it a quarter of the way through the room before he heard a familiar chuckle that had the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He started to move faster, desperate to get away from Ian's proximity, but froze when an evil voice spoke, “Ah, Mr. Milkovich!”

Mickey was frozen for a full five seconds before he used great force to turn himself around and raise what had to be the fakest smile he'd ever worn. He swore John Woods only relished in it, like he knew what it was doing—what it always did—to put on this fake politeness for him.

“Surprised you made it,” he said, before taking a sip from the wine glass in his hand.

“Well, you did say it was mandatory, right?” mumbled Mickey uncontrollably.

John moved a little closer and slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks, “I'm sorry?”

Mickey took a breath and cleared his throat. “Happy to be here, Sir.”

“Mhm.” John eyed him for a moment, though something caught his attention, and he went on to say, “Oh, Honey, come here for a second?”

Mickey tensed and felt his hands begin to shake again as Ian appeared at John's side like a well behaved dog.

“This is Mickey Milkovich,” smiled John with a level of amusement that Mickey couldn't understand, “I think I've mentioned him before? He's from your old neighborhood, obviously.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow at that last word, wondering just what the hell he meant by that, but felt his anger waver as he looked at Ian in time to feel another jab of pain pierce his chest.

Ian looked apologetic and concerned as he seemed to force a smile.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Mickey,” said Ian, “I'm Ian.”

Mickey opened his mouth, finding it had gone completely dry, and barely squeeze out the words, “How's it going.”

John snorted rudely. “You familiar with the Milkoviches?” he asked.

Ian glanced at John with a skeptical expression, before answering, “I think they've crossed paths with the Gallaghers a few times.”

“Yeah, maybe Frank,” spat Mickey uncontrollably.

Ian smiled sincerely as he returned his gaze to Mickey and rolled his eyes playfully, “Who hasn't crossed paths with Frank.”

Mickey let out a quick, humorless laugh, finding a little ease in thinking of the mess that was Frank Gallagher. It was a familiarity in this strange reality he was facing.

“Well,” spoke John with a tinge of annoyance, possibly from being left out of what was obviously an inside joke. He wrapped a possessive arm around Ian and continued, “You're not a Gallagher anymore, are you?”

Ian's jaw seemed to twitch before he plastered a smile on his face to look at his husband with a gross level of fake gratitude. John leaned over to kiss Ian on the cheek, causing Ian's eyes to shoot over to Mickey with alarm. Mickey rolled his eyes at him and crossed his arms, wondering if he'd be allowed to leave yet. He decided to give it a try.

“Well, you two enjoy your nigh—“

“Oh, hold up,” interrupted John quickly, returning his eyes to Mickey. “I wanted to tell you that Albert Sanders is here. The CEO of Future Sun. I want you and Ellison to give him a _reassuring_ update on the software.”

This was the last god damn thing Mickey cared about. But, at least it was a chance for escape. Anything to get him the hell away from this current situation.

“No problem,” nodded Mickey.

“Ellison's met him before, so he'll know who to look for.”

“Okay, great,” replied Mickey, feeling his feet already trying to lift from the floor, ready to run.

“You did finish all of your work yesterday, correct?”

Mickey felt Ian's eyes burning into him, but resisted looking at him. He kept his eyes on John's as he replied, “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent,” nodded John before taking another sip of his drink, “So, did you bring anyone with you? Family, maybe?”

Mickey now felt like John was just finding excuses to keep him around, to torment him. He pulled in a calming breath before answering. John seemed to notice and smiled.

“No, Sir. Most of my family's in jail,” returned Mickey with a saccharin smile that had his boss losing his. He resisted looking at Ian as he noticed the redhead smiling out of the corner of his eye.

The moment was spliced as a heavy arm was thrown over his shoulder and Damon's big head was laid on top of his affectionately. “ _We're_ Mickey's family now, Sir. So, we all came here together.”

“Isn't that sweet?” returned John with a mocking expression.

“Adorable,” drawled Mickey, before using this situation as a blessed way out, “If you'll excuse us, Sir, Damon here promised to buy me a drink.”

“I did?” questioned Damon, just before Mickey shoved him away from the other two, following closely. He didn't even glance back at Ian, unsure of if he wanted to risk doing further damage to his heart.

“You okay, man?”

Mickey simply kept ushering Damon away, unsure how to even answer that question, and really did take him to the bar. He ordered a large glass of whiskey that he immediately started to inhale once it was set in front of him by the judgy-eyed bartender.

“Jesus, man, take it easy,” said Damon worriedly under his breath as he placed a hand to Mickey's back. Mickey still didn't stop, not until the glass was empty and he felt light headed.

He ordered a ginger whiskey next, as something to seem less worrisome to the rest of the guests around them. “Gotta find Ellison,” murmured Mickey into his new drink as he turned away from the bar.

“Why?”

“Mr. Woods would like us to go suck Albert Sanders dick.”

Damon's eyes went wide, even as he let out a nervous chuckle, and returned, “Keep your voice down, Christ, Mickey.”

Mickey glanced around, noticing several party-goers were eyeing him and simply scoffed at them.

“Well, you find him, and I'll wrangle my dancing wife,” suggested Damon, nodding his head towards what had become a dance floor in the center of the room.

Val was dancing with Amy like she was having the time of her life. Mickey took in a breath of jealousy, wishing he'd felt any bit of that carefree-ness in this moment and took off into the crowd to hunt down Ellison.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long. And he'd only made accidental eye contact with Ian once while searching the crowds. He didn't keep it long enough to even think about how it made him feel. The numbness from his buzz was certainly helping, as well.

Ellison didn't seem surprised at all by John's request, just tired, maybe. But, with a sigh, he lead the way out of the crowd and towards the last person Mickey expected.

The old man from the bathroom.

“Mr. Sanders, good evening,” greeted Ellison with an uncharacteristic joyful tone.

“Ellison, right?” returned Albert as he turned towards him, reaching out a hand.

“That's right, Sir,” smiled Ellison, while he quickly shook Albert's hand, “And this here is one of our programmers, Mickey Milkovich.”

Albert's eyes widened a bit at the sight of Mickey, before they instead crinkled with delight. He reached his hand out to be shaken, and spoke, “Isn't this a lovely surprise, Mickey Milkovich.”

Mickey stared down the man for a moment, and his outstretched hand, wondering what he had done to deserve such a strange night.

“ _You're_ Albert Sanders?” questioned Mickey and the man slowly lowered his hand, but simply smiled with amusement.

“That's right.”

“Are you fuckin' kidding me?” spat Mickey, “This night is so fucked.”

“Mickey!” chastised Ellison with a hard jab from his elbow into Mickey's side. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Sanders! I think Mr. Milkovich may have had one too many.”

“That's perfectly alright,” assured Albert, “I actually like his brashness.”

“A little too much,” murmured Mickey into his glass before taking a large gulp.

He didn't miss the large grin Albert sent his way. He decided the best course of action was to focus on drinking and let Ellison rattle off all the software updates to Albert. And ignore the constant looks the creep was sending him.

Mickey was downright floating on his buzz by the time Ellison was finished, dismissing himself to use the restroom. He tried to pull Mickey away with him, but Mickey shook his hand off, holding up his now empty glass.

Ellison rolled his eyes and kept going, leaving Mickey to instead return to the bar. Which admittedly took some extra caution as his head began to spin a bit.

After collecting his next drink he moved towards one of the large white pillars in the back of the lobby, behind the bar. He leaned it on and looked for Damon, hoping his escape was approaching. With the rate he was going, he considered that he might need to just call a taxi to potentially pass out in.

“You know,” breathed a voice from beside him, “If your team needs an extension I'd be happy to suggest it to Mr. Woods.”

Mickey sent a glare over his shoulder to Albert, whose eyes were perusing Mickey again.

“Oh yeah? What you want in return?”

“I thought maybe we could go back to my place and you could show me what other things that crude mouth can do?”

Mickey's brows went high and he snorted in disbelief. “Man, you couldn't handle my blowjobs. Prolly die of a heart attack.”

“Ah, so you are familiar with the act, hm?”

“Well, usually it's with dudes _closer to my age_.”

“You're missing out, then. Us older models have more experience.”

“And less stamina.”

Albert laughed loudly and leaned even closer to say, “I really enjoy you. Can't remember the last time anyone has spoken to me like you do.”

“Yeah? You some kind of masochist?”

“Perhaps,” smirked Albert and Mickey rolled his eyes away, only to have them land on the last thing he was expecting.

Ian. Only three feet away.

“Good evening, Mr. Sanders,” smiled Ian, but the smile was strange. Unlike any Mickey had ever seen on his face before. There was something very cold about it.

“Ah, the other Mr. Woods,” said Albert, “How are you this evening?”

“Fine,” answered Ian quietly, his gaze unflinching, “And you? I see you've taken a liking to Mickey, here.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed Albert, “He's something else. Has the mouth of a sailor and the fire of a younger version of myself.”

“Ah, so you're really just tryin' to fuck your younger self then, huh?” Both men looked to Mickey with surprise, but Mickey continued with a knowing smile for Albert, “Tryin' to get a taste of your glory days again?”

Mickey could not believe it when even this call-out had Albert beaming at him and leaning in close again.

“That a problem?” he murmured.

“I apologize for being nosy,” Ian cut in with a coarse tone, “but I don't think it's appropriate for a client to _mingle_ with one of the program designers.”

“I don't think your husband would mind,” returned Albert, “If I'm not mistaken, he's mingled with clients himself. And if rumors are right, so have you, right?”

“That's not really any of your business, is it?”

Mickey groaned exhaustively, interrupting whatever the hell was happening, and spoke, “Who gives a shit? I'm not having sex with this old dude, and none of this is your business, _Mr. Woods_.”

Ian looked to Mickey with hurt-filled eyes and a calculating expression. His lips parted, but no words came out. Mickey frowned at him and pushed off of the pillar.

“If you two weirdos will excuse me, I need to go smoke a pack of cigarettes.”

Mickey moved as quickly as he could back to the door he'd left through earlier in the evening and found he had a tail. Fully expecting it to be Ian he spun around to confront him the second he stepped outside, but instead he found himself face-to-face with Damon.

“You alright?”

Mickey scowled at him and reached for his cigarettes. He took the time to light one up, glancing to the door behind Damon, before he spoke, “No. No, I'm not fuckin' alright. You know what? I'm pissed off!”

Damon raised his brows, but said nothing, giving Mickey and his newfound inebriation the stage to vent. He moved down the alley a bit before he began, testing just how much the world bounced beneath his feet, and the walls of the buildings swayed back and forth in his vision. Shit, he was gone. And the fresh air, mixed with the smoke and nicotine, had his buzz turning to near-sickening.

“I just can't believe him,” spat Mickey as he turned to face the solid stone wall of their building, “He's in there acting like a jealous boyfriend while Albert Sanders is clawing to get in my pants.”

“Wait, what? Sanders wants you?”

Mickey barely registered Damon's questions as his dizzy mind focused on one frustration alone.

“And John Woods was in there flaunting Ian and talkin' down to me like he always does, making sure I know I'm the fuckin' gum on his shoe.” Mickey scoffed loudly and shook his head as he took another large hit from his cigarette. “Fuckin' John Woods—I tell you the fuck what, if that dude was in my neighborhood, he wouldn't even think twice about treatin' me like that. He'd probably piss himself if he knew what my family's like. Fuckin' talkin' to me like that all the time. Prick. I bet I could knock his ass out with one hit.”

“I think you've had one too many, Mick,” laughed Damon.

“Fuck off. Just let me be beliger-beleging-beligernt—“ Mickey paused, squinting his eyes up at the dark sky for a moment, finding it spinning way too fast, before the word hit him like a bolt of lightning, “Belligerent!”

He turned with a proud smile and found confusion. No one else was outside. He took a few steps to look through the windows again and spied Damon walking towards the bar. Apparently, he could only stand Mickey's _belligerence_ for so long.

Mickey blew a raspberry at the sight and moved back down the alley a bit to lean on the solid stone wall. At last, solitude.

He let his mind go unfocused, so that all he felt was the subtle swaying sensation his buzz gave him. A small giggle fell from his mouth as he reached into his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

“Somethin' funny on the back of your eyelids?”

Mickey's eyes opened into a glare that he directed to Ian as he shoved the butt of his cigarette between his lips. Ian slipped his hands the pockets of the coat he now wore and cautiously approached.

“The fuck you want?”

“Does it really matter who I'm married to, Mick?”

Just jumping right into it, huh? Mickey turned with his brows raised and a bit of a stumble that he covered up by moving closer. “Does it matter?” repeated Mickey, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Ian sighed and turned to put his back to the building, pulling his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Mickey had so many thoughts racing through his mind as he watched Ian light up his own cigarette, he hardly knew where to begin with the redhead.

“Ian, I fucking hate that guy,” spoke Mickey as he watched Ian pull in a long drag, “And I bitch about him all the time to you—while he was literally sleeping in the fuckin' bed you two share.”

“I would never tell him that shit, Mickey,” offered Ian sincerely, “I wouldn't snitch.”

“Doesn't matter, not the point,” dismissed Mickey with a wild wave of his hand, “You just didn't think to ever mention that you were married to _him_. Of all god damn people in this world.”

“I told you I was scared you wouldn't like what you found out,” spoke Ian quietly, looking down to the ground. “If I'd told you that first day you would have kissed my ass and refused to be yourself. And I really like who you actually are.”

“That's fucking great, thanks. So glad you do,” spat Mickey sarcastically. “You ever think about anyone other than yourself?”

A defensive look crossed Ian's face and Mickey actually relished it. He smirked a bit, uncontrollably, as he brought his cigarette back to his mouth for another puff.

“Yeah, asshole, I fucking do,” snapped Ian, “Why would you even ask me that? You think I'm in this position because I'm some self-serving monster?”

“I don't fuckin' know. You live well, right?”

Ian let out a humorless laugh and murmured, “Wow, so that's what you actually think of me.”

“I think you're the type of guy to withhold information, because you want something.”

“Yeah, _you_.”

Mickey's conviction sputtered for a moment, but that only made his rage come back with a mighty strength.

“And that makes it okay?” yelled Mickey, taking a few quick steps towards Ian, who promptly stood up straight. “Do you even understand the situation, Ian?”

“Of course—“

“No, you fuckin' don't,” interrupted Mickey, finding himself closer and closer to Ian, who was visibly breathing roughly. “If he finds out that we're even texting, that dude will fire me in a fuckin' heartbeat. I will lose my salary. I'll have to take a massive paycut to work at some other piece of shit place, which means I'll lose my place, and have to move back closer to my fuckin' family that I've worked so hard to get away from.”

“He couldn't fire you for something like that,” argued Ian quietly.

“Do you even know who the fuck you're married to? That guy hates me already. He's been looking for a reason to fire me since he met me.”

“He's an asshole with a permanent power trip, I know,” nodded Ian, “But, I would never be so careless with you, Mickey. I'm not going to let him find out about you.”

“Oh? You just got the magic fuckin' power to keep him from finding out?”

“I've always been extra careful with our texting. I wouldn't let him find out—I _can't,_ Mick. Because, I swear if he takes away the one thing that I...”

Ian trailed off with his mouth open, his head shaking slightly, and eyes that radiated pain. Slowly his mouth closed and something truly heartbreaking slipped onto his expression as he seemed to _try_ to harden it while looking down to the ground, again.

Mickey loathed the sympathy that bubbled up in his throat. Ian was married to _him,_ he was the one who made that choice. He made the fucking bed, now he needed to lie in it. And yet, still, Mickey hated the wounded look that Ian seemed to be shamefully hiding from him.

“Fuck,” said Mickey under his breath, taking in an impressively long drag of smoke. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“I'm sorry, Mickey,” whispered Ian, glancing up at him, “I'm really so sorry that I put you in this position. It was wrong of me. And it was selfish, you're right.”

Mickey sighed and felt like he would collapse from the weight of the situation. He moved forward until he could lean, face-first, against the wall beside Ian. The cold stone felt amazing on his skin. He turned his head to press his temple against it instead and looked at Ian.

“I'm too drunk for this shit.”

Ian gave him a pained smile in return. “Is that because of me?”

Mickey shut his eyes and nodded, humming out, “Mhm.”

“Jesus, Mick, I'm really sorry. I promise, you hold all the cards, now, okay? You don't ever talk to me again and I'll totally understand.”

“Shh, you're talking too much,” murmured Mickey as he chased some kind of peace that his inebriation offered, mostly in the form of unconsciousness that was beckoning him.

“I feel like such an asshole, though. I was too wrapped up in how I felt, I didn't even think about you possibly losing your job.”

Mickey's brows twitched up at that, the words registering at a slow pace.

“You really like me that much, huh? You can't even see the most _obvious shit_?” Mickey snorted, “Fuckin' unbelievable.”

“I do, though.”

Mickey lifted his lashes, finding the world spinning a bit, until his eyes locked onto Ian's. Ian was slouching against the wall a bit, so he was right at Mickey's eye line. He was close, too. An unfair swirl of good feelings moved up his chest.

“You have really shitty taste, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled and his eyes wandered around Mickey's face for a moment.

“I think it's improving.”

Mickey hated how that made him smile.

“You're gonna give me whiplash, man,” chuckled Mickey, “So fucking weird how you always calm me down.”

“I'll rub your neck,” whispered Ian, leaning in just a tiny bit more.

Mickey suddenly felt Ian's fingers colliding with his and pulled in a long breath. How could such a small bit of contact feel so good? He'd never felt anything like it before. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

Three of Ian's fingers slipped between Mickey's and his gaze dipped to look at them briefly.

“Hey, Mick?” breathed Ian.

“Hm?” Mickey was having a hard time focusing on anything but Ian's warm fingers.

“Even if you walk away from me and never talk to me again, I just want you to know that I'm going to be thinking about you for the rest of my life.”

Mickey pulled his head back to look at Ian more fully, furrowing his brow strongly at the redhead who was staring at him with all the sincerity in the world.

“Why?” Mickey choked a bit on the word.

“Because, you made me feel again,” smiled Ian sweetly.

The door was abruptly thrown open beside Ian, who yanked his fingers away from Mickey's like they were on fire. Damon stepped out and immediately looked suspicious of what he found. He raised a brow at Mickey, who casually lifted his cigarette to his lips—though, sadly found that it had burned out long ago. Nothing remained but the cold filter.

“Got you some water,” said Damon, holding out a bottle of water for Mickey, who took it with a scowl.

He murmured his thanks and twisted the cap off, before putting all of his focus on chugging some of it down. When he came up for air he found an awkward situation waiting. Damon was staring daggers into Ian, who was focused hard on the ground with another shameful look.

“Thought I told you to be nice to him,” said Damon unexpectedly, prompting Mickey to shoot him a look of betrayal.

“The fuck? You were the one who gave him my number?”

Damon shrugged, “I _thought_ he would be good for you.”

“I, uh, I'll leave you two alone,” said Ian as he turned to deposit his cigarette in the metal receptacle. He gave Mickey one last pained look, and spoke, “I really am sorry.”

With that he disappeared back inside, leaving the alley quiet and the atmosphere thick. Damon sent Mickey a frown, which Mickey tried to avoid. He pushed his lips to the side, making a wish that Damon wouldn't give him the line of questions he could see in his gaze.

“Can we please just get the fuck out of here already?

 

 

 

**

The night was so long that Ian couldn't decipher if his exhaustion was from it, or his current mental state. He was relieved by the sight of his and John's bed in a way that he very rarely was. He peeled his clothes away, unable to think of anything but his desperate need to sleep for eternity. Before he managed to dive under the covers, John wandered into the room with an annoyingly loud sigh.

“That went well,” he said as he headed to their walk-in closet to deposit his suit jacket and shoes.

When he returned in his boxer briefs and unbuttoned shirt, he spoke again, “You feeling alright now?”

Ian nodded, “Stomach's still a little uneasy, but I think I'm alright.”

“Good,” murmured John as he moved in close, invading Ian's personal space without any type of invitation.

Ian's body had been conditioned to receiving and giving John kisses for so long it was second-nature, and yet he found more and more each time he was uncomfortable with the act. To the current point of revulsion that he secretly swallowed down when John pulled away.

“Did you fucking smoke at my party?”

Ian glanced away, stuffing down the defensiveness that flickered in his gut. He really didn't have the strength for this, now.

“What's the rule, Ian?” questioned John with a growing tone of irritability, “You do not smoke during events like this. Christ, you smell like an ashtray.”

“Right,” murmured Ian, “Sorry about that. It wasn't until the end of the night, though.”

“Still, all I ask of you is to present your best self, right? If you talked to anyone before leaving, smelling like a god damn ash tray, then you didn't present your best self.”

Ian no longer wanted the bed, he just wanted to escape John's disapproving presence.

“I understand, John. It was a slip up, alright? Had a bad craving since I wasn't feeling well.”

“Just don't let it happen again,” sighed John, “I don't ask that much from you, considering everything you're getting out of this.”

“You're right,” nodded Ian, knowing just how robotic he looked as he did so. “I'm gonna go take a shower.”

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight, _Darling_ ,” huffed John sardonically.

Ian rolled his eyes the second he turned away to head to his dresser to get a fresh pair of sweats. He said nothing else to John as he headed out of their room and towards the full bath on the other side of the kitchen. He glanced at the couch in the living room on his way, considering he would likely end up sleeping there instead and found his eyes landing on the kitchen island between him and the living room. His phone was laying there, begging him for use. He snatched it up and moved into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

The only thing he wanted more than endless sleep was to speak with Mickey. He needed reassurance that he hadn't lost his anchor. But, a voice screamed in his mind of how selfish he was. He could hear Mickey accusing him of always thinking of only himself, and set his phone aside with an ache in his heart.

The quiet of the room settled over him and he realized he was finally completely alone for the first time all night. He found himself leaning weakly on the bathroom counter as the perpetuity of his situation tore him down, piece by piece. His throat burned aggressively.

Ian raised his eyes to the mirror in front of him and hated what he found. He looked like a rundown version of the person he used to see in mirrors. His eyes were red and barely alive; his face sunken with the weight of his troubles. He stared into the mirror at himself for a long moment, at all the anger and exhaustion, and wondered how he was supposed to live this life for another five years. Five more years of doing exactly what that horrid man wanted. Spitefully, he grabbed his phone and started a new thread with Mickey. He quickly typed out a release and deleted it as soon as it was delivered, then carried on with his shower.

 

*

Mickey read the message soon after waking the next morning, but couldn't quite grasp it. He tucked his phone in his pajama pants pocket and stumbled his way to his kitchen, fighting through the pounding of his hangover. He made a cup of coffee on his single-cup machine, and lit a cigarette to smoke while he sat down at his small wooden table, unable to stay standing for even the small amount of time it took to brew the cup.

The words of the text he'd received from Ian began to bounce into his head, waking him up more and more, so he grabbed his phone again to re-read the strange message.

 **Ian (12:42 a.m.):** _I fucking hate him so much._

 

 


	6. Night Driving on a Motorway. I'm alive, I'm alive.

Mickey truly struggled all of Sunday not to text Ian back and question his surprising and vague message. Sleeping a lot off and on was the one thing that helped.

And Monday morning he went into work, completely confused if he wanted to see Ian in the lobby or not. He had absolutely no idea what to do now. He knew more than he had before and yet he was more confused than he had been yet.

It didn't matter, considering Ian wasn't waiting for him. Mickey felt a tinge of gratitude, even as he paid for his coffee and made his way upstairs. He greeted Damon as he entered his cubicle, and received a sympathetic look in return.

“Hey, Bud,” returned Damon, “How you doing? Tried callin' yesterday.”

“Yeah, I was at the mercy of my fuckin' hangover,” said Mickey with a short laugh, “I'm alright. Don't worry bout it.”

Damon nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced. Mickey ignored it and settled into his desk, booting up his computer.

“At least this week is just smooth sailing with coding,” offered Damon, standing up to peer over the divider.

“We'll see,” murmured Mickey into his coffee.

A quiet moment passed in which he still felt Damon's eyes on him. He glanced up with raised brows in question.

“Was _he_ downstairs?”

Mickey averted his gaze quickly and shook his head. Damon grunted a bit, but didn't let the conversation die. As much as Mickey wanted to be grateful for Damon's concern, he simply felt impatient. He was trying very hard not to think of the hurt he felt, so this was not helping things.

“I, uh, asked a couple people about their marriage, ya know,” murmured Damon.

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, focusing his attention on logging into his computer, and attempting not to seem quite as curious as he was.

“There's a general consensus that it makes no sense, since Ian is really nice and John sucks ass.”

Mickey snorted in amusement.

“I guess Ian is at all the events and dinners and shit, though, so it seems legit. I've never seen him before, but maybe I just wasn't paying attention.”

“You've only been here six months, man,” said Mickey, “Anyways, can we drop it?”

“Yeah, alright,” murmured Damon before he disappeared into his cubicle.

Mickey attempted to dive into his work, ready to distract himself for the next eight hours, but he was only working for fifteen minutes when Ellison approached the cluster of cubicles and groaned, “Wish me luck in there.”

Damon, Mickey, and Amy all returned _good lucks_ , but Mickey was distracted as he noticed the huddle of people near the elevators; which included John and Albert Sanders.

Ellison made his way over to the two men and Albert's entourage, greeting them with a polite smile. Mickey found it hard to pull his eyes away—specifically, from John fucking Woods.

Mickey had always been annoyed at the sight of his boss, but now it was so much worse. He felt enraged, which he knew was entirely fueled by unfiltered jealousy.

He scrutinized every detail about John. From his dumb floppy blonde hair, to the way he walked, to even the sound of his voice. The fuck was so great about him? He was just like every other northside snob he'd ever met in his life. He couldn't believe that someone from his neighborhood would actually marry that fucking yuppy.

As he tried to fight away the image of Ian kissing John at the holiday party, he seemed to gain the attention of Albert, who sent him a smile. Mickey quickly turned away, facing his computer again as he whispered, “Fuck.”

He had hoped the guy had just been drunk, as well, at the party and that was his reason for being so forward, but maybe he was wrong. Mickey had certainly regretted his behavior towards the CEO, and was anxious with concern that it would get him in trouble. If John knew...

The gaggle of idiots made their way towards the conference room and Mickey let out a breath of relief when he heard the door shut behind them. An annoying impulse suddenly made him itch, but he resisted. And resisted. For all of ten minutes of considering that he knew John's exact location.

Mickey sighed at himself as he scooped up his phone and opened the text thread between him and Ian. His curiosity was way too strong to beat, he told himself.

 **Mickey:** _Who did you mean?_

It wasn't even five minutes later that his phone buzzed on his desk. He didn't let himself think about how excited he felt by the sound.

 **Ian:** _Huh?_

 **Mickey:** _Who do you hate?_

 **Ian:** _Oh. Sorry about that weird text.lol I was talking about John._

Mickey furrowed his brow and leaned back in his chair. Work could wait a little bit more.

 **Mickey:** _Then divorce him_

 **Ian:** _Wish it was that simple lol I would've divorced him a year ago._

 **Mickey:** _How long you two been married?_

 **Ian:** _A year and a half_

As Mickey's brain began to throw a party at the fact that Ian confirmed he was not only unhappy in his marriage, but also absolutely wanted a divorce, he had to actively fight against the joy. That didn't change the fact that they were still married and it was still a massive risk of his livelihood to have any kind of relationship with Ian; even just friendship. John was too much of an asshole. And as Mickey discovered the previously Friday night, they couldn't seem to keep things platonic, anyways.

It took Mickey a lot strength to type out the next text.

 **Mickey:** _Look man I get that you're not happy but I still think we should take a step back ok?_

 **Ian:** _Yeah. I understand. I'll leave you alone._

 

*

The week sucked.

Work, surprisingly, wasn't even what was wearing Mickey out. It was the lonely hours every night where he sat waiting for Ian to text. And the way that he was disappointed every morning when he entered the lobby at work and didn't see Ian. Not once.

He knew it would just take some time to readjust, but it was miserable in the meantime. He felt even more lonely now than he had before he'd stumbled into Ian's path.

When Mickey was leaving Woods Tech on Friday he considered texting a few people to request company. There were friends he'd made at his old job that he hadn't seen since he left. But, he had a feeling he wouldn't be the most fun in the world in his current state.

Maybe he'd be honest, for once. Maybe he'd ask the one friend, Phillipe, to take him out to a gay bar and see where it went, maybe that would help get Ian out of his system? Mickey contemplated these options with a queasy feeling in his gut as he threw his coat on directly outside of the building and began his journey home. He paused near the corner of the building to light up a cigarette then began his trek against the wind towards the bus stop he was painfully familiar with at this point.

“Hey, Mick.”

Mickey's heart jumped excited, but he didn't stop walking as he glanced over his shoulder to Ian, who was jogging up to him.

“What's up,” returned Mickey as casually as he could, just as Ian caught up to his side with a painfully gorgeous smile.

Fuck, he'd missed that smile. His whole face, truthfully.

“Just wanted to say hi,” shrugged Ian, “How was work?”

“Not too bad considering. How about you?”

“Fine,” smiled Ian.

As he noticed Ian's beautiful eyes zipping over his face, as if he had also missed Mickey's, he found himself stopping before the crosswalk he needed to take to the next block. He turned towards Ian and took a hit off of his cigarette, regarding him for a moment, and honestly hoping that Ian would explain his sudden appearance after nothing for the last week. Ian simply stood there, with his hands in his pockets, and a steady smile on his face.

“The fuck you following me for, Gallagher?”

“I, uhh,” Ian pivoted a bit, fixating his gaze on something high in the sky, “gotta pick up Liam and take him to Lip. I was heading to my car and thought, um...”

Mickey eyed his stiff, shifty behavior while he took one last hit from his cigarette, waiting for the punch line. Ian grew a smile, like he knew what reaction was coming before he even said it.

“Thought maybe you'd want to come along?”

“What for?” questioned Mickey while he put his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.

“I just thought—“

“Doin' a lot of thinking and little explaining. Spit it out.”

“I want to hang out,” relented Ian, “Maybe finally talk about some shit face-to-face.”

They stared at each other for a long following moment as Mickey debated what he should do. Ian's gaze was filled with obvious anxiety, and Mickey knew his stone gaze wasn't helping.

“Where?”

“Hm?”

“Where would we go?”

“Southside. Lip still lives in our old house.”

“So, nowhere in this area?”

He watched understanding flicker in Ian's eyes and he quickly shook his head. “No, no. We won't be anywhere near, um, _people_ around here.”

Mickey nodded a bit and glanced around as he felt himself cave hopelessly to the situation. He blew out a breath, which ended with, “Okay, yeah. I'll go with you.”

A grin exploded on Ian's face and Mickey's stomach danced at the sight. He fought away his own smile as Ian excitedly spoke.

“Okay, great! Wait here and I'll go get my car, okay? Be right back!”

Ian took off back down the block and the smile poked out against Mickey's will. There went his self control, all over again, he considered as he watched the retreating redhead.

While Mickey waited and waited an annoying tiny voice began to speak in the back of his head to run away. That this wasn't right, and he was stepping into dangerous territory. But, he also kept thinking about the tortured way Ian was looking before he agreed. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around for something to force him to change his mind, because there was no way he could do it on his own.

Mickey had only seen Ian's car once, at night, while inebriated. So, when a nice car pulled up to the curb in front of him with tinted windows, he simply eyed it suspiciously. A long moment passed and Mickey cocked a brow at the passenger window.

The window rolled down halfway to reveal Ian leaning over from the driver's seat.

“Get in,” he laughed.

Mickey glanced down the block both ways before opening the door and quickly dropping in.

“Wasn't sure if it was you,” murmured Mickey. “Thought some other rich guy was tryin' to pick me up.”

Ian snorted as he pulled away from the curb and back onto the road.

“So, we gotta pick Liam up from my place, then we'll probably get some food before we head to Lip's, that cool?”

“Everything except the part about us going to _your place_ ,” glowered Mickey, “Are you trying to live life on the edge?”

“We're not going in,” dismissed Ian, “And _he's_ not there.”

Mickey bit his lip and turned his head to stare out the window. He was just going to let this all happen, like an idiot. Why did he feel paralyzed?

He wondered about this for the next fifteen minutes that they drove in silence, and the only conclusion he could find was that Ian was a drug. Every time he glanced over at him his whole body reacted from the sight. He couldn't recall ever feeling that amazing, except for a few good highs he'd had in his life. Putting it in a familiar perspective like that did at least make him feel more comfortable with the lack of control.

“What the fuck,” mumbled Mickey as Ian flicked on his blinker, indicating he was going to pull into the parking lot of a massive building. “You live _here_?”

“Yep,” sighed Ian.

Mickey leaned forward on the dash to look up at the building with a raised brow. One floor had to run a million or two, easy. Probably more.

“The hell is that like?”

“The magic wore off quickly,” answered Ian dully.

Mickey eyed Ian like the confusing creature that he was, until they were pulling up to a security booth and Ian was rolling down his window. Mickey quickly turned his head away with paranoid thoughts of the guard reporting his presence to John.

Soon they were cruising up a spiral ramp that went up, and up, and up, and up, until Ian pulled off on a level that Mickey missed the number to. The level was completely empty, with at least fifteen parking spaces that were unused. They drove down to a large door at the other end of the lot and Ian parked the car. Soon the door was opening and Liam stepped out with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Ian rolled down Mickey's window enough to call out, “Backseat!”

Liam didn't seem to care as he climbed into the backseat, tossing his bag to the other side of the seat. He promptly buckled in and Mickey felt stiff with awkwardness. Ian smiled at him, though, which was relieving. Just another shot of dopamine.

“Liam, this is my friend Mickey,” spoke Ian as he put the car in drive and began their journey back out of the garage. “He's gonna tag along today.”

“Okay,” spoke a quiet voice from the backseat.

Mickey and Ian exchanged looks, both smiling faintly at one another, before Mickey nervously glanced into the backseat with a hand lifting into a half-wave, and greeted, “Yeah, uh, how's it going, buddy?”

“Fine,” answered Liam simply, “Are we going to stop for food?”

“Does White Castle sound good?” suggested Ian.

“Don't really feel like having the shits for the next twenty-four hours,” returned Mickey, garnering a laugh from Ian.

“Can we get subs?” requested Liam.

“Now, that I can get behind,” agreed Mickey.

“Subs it is,” breathed Ian.

 

*

Once they had the subs, Ian pulled off into a parking lot to inhale his. It was collectively quiet in the vehicle as the three ate, so Ian turned on the radio. Mickey managed to only glance at Ian two or three times. Maybe five.

“That hit the spot,” said Mickey as he rolled up his empty wrapper to cram in the paper bag. “Thanks for buying.”

“No problem,” smiled Ian, around a mouth full of food.

Mickey gave him an amused look and pulled out his phone to check his work e-mail while the others finished. It wasn't much longer, thankfully, as he had two e-mails from his coworkers with their own personal updates that he wasn't really in the mood to read.

His body screamed for a cigarette, but one glance around this fancy car told him that he'd better not. They weren't that far from the southside, anyhow.

Although, Mickey wasn't opposed to meeting up with his siblings at places like the Alibi, he hadn't actually been to his old neighborhood in years. So, driving past his road made him tense in an uncomfortable way, to the point of feeling a familiar flighty need. The second Ian parked outside of the Gallagher house Mickey stepped out to light up a cigarette.

Ian seemed to notice his strange behavior, of course, so once he was out as well he rounded the car with a concerned expression. Mickey glanced at him, but focused on sucking down nicotine.

“You okay?”

“Fuckin' fine,” dismissed Mickey irritably.

Liam moseyed past him with his backpack back over his shoulder and headed inside without a word to the other two. Ian moved to Mickey's side, however, and lit up his own cigarette.

“I'm gonna check in on Lip, but then I was thinking we could hit up the Alibi? So, we can actually hang out without an audience.”

Mickey glanced over at the hopeful smile on Ian's face and gave him a quick nod in return. Anyways, he could really use a drink right now.

“Cool,” said Ian, “Well, come on in. It'll only take a minute.”

Mickey contemplated staying outside and just focusing on getting his tension under control, but when Ian moved as far as the gate and looked back at Mickey he felt his control slip again. He followed him in like a puppy.

Mickey had known of this house's existence and location, but he'd never been inside. There was something deeply comforting about it when he stepped into the well heated, but clearly very lived in home. It had all the blemishes and age of most houses he had grown up around. Since moving he hadn't been in a place quite like it.

“Hey, there he is,” called a voice from the kitchen.

Ian moved that way, so Mickey followed, but only to the edge of the living room as he watched Ian hug his brother Lip briefly. What must that be like, to have a brother you actually greet with hugs?

“Got you a sub,” said Ian, holding up the paper bag with the only remaining sub inside. “How was work?”

“Not bad,” answered Lip as he moved to the coffee pot on the corner of the kitchen counter, then filling up a mug, “How about you?”

“I've had worse days,” shrugged Ian, though his attention went to Mickey and the burning cigarette in between his fingers. Ian flashed him a smile and reached for the ashtray sitting on the counter behind him. He spun and held it out and Mickey felt himself snap out of some sort of daze.

“Thanks,” murmured Mickey, as he reached his hand out to flick his ash into the offered ashtray.

“Is that Mickey Milkovich?” questioned Lip suddenly noticing their guest. He sent him a bemused smile and looked to his brother with question.

“Yeah, we're hanging out today,” answered Ian simply.

“Long time no see,” spoke Mickey, “How you been?”

Lip looked even more confused by that casual greeting. He eyed Mickey for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh, “Wait, why are you dressed all nice?”

“Work downtown, asshole,” returned Mickey with a defensive scowl.

He moved to be by Ian's side so he could put his cigarette out in the ashtray, after one last hit.

“No shit?” said Lip, “That's crazy. Last I heard about you, Terry was telling everyone you died.”

Ian looked to Mickey with a giant question mark above his head, which he proceeded to ignore.

“Well, I am dead _to him_ ,” bit Mickey, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Went back to school and got a decent job.”

“He works at Woods Tech, that's how we ran into each other,” chimed Ian.

Lip let out another laugh, “Sorry to hear that, man. Must suck working for such an asshole.”

Mickey laughed, surprised and happy that Lip would refer to John that way so blatantly.

“Yeah, it's a pain in the ass most days, but it pays well.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“Speaking of paying,” breathed Ian unexpectedly, “How much you guys need?”

“The bills are written on the board,” spoke Lip, sweeping a hand out towards the dry-erase board on the side of the fridge, “As always, contribute what you want.”

Ian moved to the fridge to look and Mickey watched with a raised eyebrow as he pulled a checkbook from the inside of his coat. He pressed it to the fridge as he pulled out a pen, then quickly scribbled on it. Mickey felt Lip looking at him and turned his attention to the other Gallagher.

Lip seemed to be wearing a knowing smile which had Mickey sending him a defensive look in return. Lip's smile only grew and Mickey felt entirely caught. As if he could smell Mickey's interest in Ian, or something.

The sound of Ian ripping the check loose seemed to break the tension in the air. He handed it over to Lip, who immediately said, “Whoa, you don't have to pay all of it.”

“Why not?”

“Don't you need to save money for school?”

“I made a lot this week,” shrugged Ian.

“Gross,” laughed Lip, which had Mickey's brow furrowing. But, as he looked to Ian in question, the redhead didn't reciprocate his gaze.

“Shut up,” spat Ian exhaustively, “And my tuition is paid up for the whole semester, so get over it.”

“Yeah, well, keep building that savings to fall back on when your hubby kicks you to the curve, alright?”

Ian looked to Mickey nervously, before speaking under his breath, “Don't need your guidance. I know what I'm doing.”

“You sure?” returned Lip with a nod towards Mickey, who raised his brows.

“Mind your own business, alright?” said Ian with a strange laugh, “We're gonna get going.”

“Yeah, alright,” nodded Lip, casting another glance towards Mickey, “Have fun at the dirty motel.”

Ian raised a middle finger and held it up as he turned and headed back through the living room. Mickey raised a threatening brow at Lip before he followed, annoyed at the chuckles from the older man.

As soon as they stepped outside Ian apologized, “Sorry about him.”

“Nah, it's cool,” dismissed Mickey, “He's always been an asshole.”

Ian laughed and agreed on the way to the car. Once settled back in the car and moving towards the Alibi, Ian spoke, “It's just him, Carl, and Liam now, so I try to help out with bills.”

“Nice of ya.”

“Yeah. My sister Debbie moved out last year, with her new babydaddy, and Carl can only help so much. I'm trying to convince Lip to go back to school, but he keeps saying that can wait until Liam's out of highschool, or whatever.”

“Liam's pretty quiet, huh?”

“Yeah. Has been for a long time,” nodded Ian, “Worry about him sometimes. I started him in therapy earlier this year, but that hasn't really made a difference.”

“No surprise there,” murmured Mickey with judgment.

“Its helped me before,” shrugged Ian.

Mickey looked him over curiously, but Ian kept his gaze away, as if he knew his eyes would give something away. There was so much, Mickey considered, that he still had to learn about Ian. He was a bottomless pit of mysteries. That might have been what made this whole thing even harder to walk away from.

As they reached their destination and Ian shined a smile at Mickey, he began to wonder what Ian's whole plan actually was. He repeatedly looked to Ian, hoping for a clue, on the way up to the door of the Alibi, where Mickey froze. He licked his lips and looked around as he thought that he was caught in a trap that he didn't even remotely understand at this point.

“What's wrong?” asked Ian.

Mickey paused and cleared his throat before he spoke, “How about you clear some shit up for me before we go in?”

“But, I planned on it. _Inside_. You know, in the somewhat warm bar.”

“No, look, I just want a straight answer from you first, alright? Are you tryin' to bang me, do you actually wanna be my friend, or are you looking for something more than all that?”

Seconds ticked on as they then stared at one another and Mickey felt understanding wash over in the form of an unexpected warm, fluttering, excitement. It only got worse as a soft smile bloomed on Ian's face. This definitely wasn't just a cruel trap.

“Uh, yes, yes, and yes,” shrugged Ian. “Yes to all three. Now, can we go inside? Fuckin' freezing.”

Ian didn't wait for his answer to haul himself inside, while Mickey stood on the sidewalk with shifting eyes as his mind worked to quickly untangle the words Ian just said. Nervousness swelled within him as he made his way inside, now knowing that Ian seemed to want a relationship with him.

They were both greeted with excitement from Kevin, and also confusion at their arrival together. He didn't outright ask, though, until Ian lightly tapped Mickey on the arm and announced, “Gotta take a piss. Get me a beer?”

He wandered back to the restrooms and Mickey looked to Kevin, who smiled knowingly and moved to get two glasses out. He poured two drafts while Mickey glanced around at the familiar barflies that were either too drunk to care about anything, or eyeing him curiously. He found himself yanking away his tie, realizing that this was the first time he'd been there in his work clothes.

He shoved his tie into his coat pocket as Kevin set both of the beers on the bar.

“So, you and Ian are hanging out, huh?”

“I guess,” shrugged Mickey innocently while he pulled a few bucks from his wallet to toss onto the bar.

“You know he's married, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well, just be good to him. He's a good dude. Watched him grow up two doors down from me, ya know.”

“Jesus, we're just having a beer together.”

“Just a beer?” spoke Kev incredulously. “That's cute, Mickey.”

“Fuck off,” dismissed Mickey, snatching both beers from the bar, “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Hey, it's none of my business,” grinned Kevin with his hands up in mock surrender.

Mickey glared and made his way to the furthest booth, deciding Ian probably wouldn't mind being as far from all the loudmouths as possible. He set both drinks down and stripped away his coat, tossing it into the booth. He still felt too dressed up with his sports jacket on, so he pulled that off, as well, and sat down.

Ian slid into the opposite seat immediately after, cramming his coat into the corner on his side. He reached for his beer, thanking Mickey, and took a surprisingly large gulp. Mickey almost laughed at that as he turned to fish his cigarettes from his coat pocket.

It was only a lot of awkward as Mickey smoked a cigarette and Ian seemed to only be able to stay away from his beer for a few seconds. He decided he wouldn't say a god damn word until Ian did, as it seemed the redhead was working himself up to say whatever the hell he needed to say.

 

**

Ian regretted asking for only beer as he found all of his words getting stuck in his throat, and the beer wasn't helping enough. It also didn't help that Mickey was just sitting there, watching him crumble in on himself. It made his palms itchy, his tongue dry, and his tummy fill with fear. He had to face this, he had to. He would never forgive himself if he didn't try to explain things.

Suddenly, another beer was set in front of him. He looked up to Kevin, who winked at him secretively, and spoke, “Seem a little thirsty, Ian.”

Mickey snorted while Ian let out an embarrassed laugh. “Thanks, Kev.”

Kevin retreated and Ian's eyes returned to Mickey, who scooped up his own beer and looked Ian over. Fuck it. He had to get it out, now or never.

“John and I have an arranged marriage,” blurted Ian.

Mickey seemed to choke on his beer. “The fuck?” coughed Mickey, looking to him with wide eyes, “Frank sell you off to him, or something?”

Amusement overfilled Ian at the thought. That really wasn't an unrealistic thought.

“Not like that,” laughed Ian, “But, you're not far off. Like I said, we didn't get married because we're in love. Never were.”

“Alright,” said Mickey slowly as he set his beer back down, “So, how'd it happen? Where did you even meet him?”

Ian ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his new glass a few times as he eyed Mickey hesitantly. Mickey simply waited, not pulling his gaze away for a moment. How he wished they had met another time, under different circumstances.

“Look, it's really, really embarrassing.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you're _married to satan_ , of course that's embarrassing.”

Ian snorted. He then paused, sitting back and crossing his arms, before confessing, “I met John when I was go-go dancing down in boystown.”

He glanced at Mickey in time to see his animated brows raise high. His eyes zipped down Ian again, who looked away before continuing, “He basically offered to be my sugar daddy. Gave me an allowance every week to occasionally dress up in nice suits and go with him to business dinners and parties, stuff like that.”

“He pay you for sex, too?”

Ian tensed, keeping his sight down to the table. He hadn't expected that to come up so soon.

“Yes,” he answered tightly, with a forced glance up to see Mickey's reaction. There was sympathy there in his blue gaze that only brought on shame. “Not like he's a hideous guy, or anything. And I wasn't dating anyone when we met. When a rich handsome guy offers you money for _that_ , it's an easy answer. Honestly, it was kind of exciting.”

“So, you married him?”

“When Fiona left, Lip and I were trying to get some kind of custody of Liam. We both have records, you know. His dealt with a lot of alcohol problems and mine...well, the system considers it a bit worse. Frank was no help, of course. I was venting to John one night about it and he made the suggestion of getting married. I almost said no, of course, but I knew the courts would have no problem signing over custody if I was married to a stable guy like him. On paper he was perfect. It seemed like the perfect arrangement.”

Mickey nodded quietly for a moment while Ian took in a breath, wondering what he thought so far.

“What's the other side of the arrangement?” inquired Mickey.

“I have to be the husband he always wanted,” shrugged Ian. “I make sure the image of our marriage is perfect, lie about how we met, talk him up to everybody, make sure I look good—especially, around all his friends—stuff like that.”

“Sit, stay, rollover?”

“Something like that,” murmured Ian shamefully, “There are a lot of benefits. I don't have to worry about money, which means my family doesn't either. I live in a beautiful place. I have amazing medical insurance. Liam is living the best he ever has. I can afford school, which means I'm being set up for a life-long career. If all that means I just have to put my personal happiness aside for a bit, then it's worth it, right?”

Mickey didn't say anything, so Ian looked down once more. The lack of encouragement was nearly a reminder of the hopelessness of his situation. He had gotten himself into this trap, and no matter how much he dressed it up it was just that: a trap. As he grabbed his beer to drink down more of the liquid courage, he reminded himself of why he willingly went into the trap. Family first.

“So, what's it like at home?”

Ian cocked his head to the side in question as he swallowed down the amber liquid.

“I mean, are you like a married couple in privacy?” reiterated Mickey while he seemed to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. “Do you have any kind of relationship?”

“Ah,” nodded Ian, “It's really just weird. We sleep in the same bed, because he doesn't want anyone to come over and see the whole separate-rooms thing. It's a big bed, thankfully. But, I, uh, tend to sleep on the couch a lot.”

Something flickered in Mickey's gaze and Ian watched closely as his lips twitched to the side. He couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of the pictures he'd sent him from said couch.

Ian cleared his throat before continuing, “We barely talk, really, unless there's something he needs me to do, or Liam did something to get on his nerves. He's not a very warm guy, as you know, so it's really all business.”

“Even the sex?”

Ian grimaced, understanding why he wanted to know so badly about it. He would want to, too, if their situations were reversed. But, it was still not something he had wanted to divulge to Mickey, of all people.

“Especially, that. When he wants it he let's me know and if I feel up to it, he gives me a sort of bonus on my weekly allowance.”

He couldn't read the look on Mickey's face, now. And that made his nerves scream more, and his hand return to his beer. Mickey took a drink of his, as well, before unexpectedly asking, “How much?”

Ian took another drink.

“Not as much as it was before we were married. I get too many extra benefits, now,” said Ian vaguely with a roll of his eyes, “To be honest, I wasn't too strict with that in the beginning. Or anything. I mean, I was so desperate to help my family and turn my life around when he'd made the offer, I was able to ignore all the annoying shit about him for a while and give him whatever he wanted.”

There was a bit of judgment to Mickey's expression as he furrowed his brow and looked away with a look of some sort of annoyance. Ian tried not to feel the sting from it and continued on.

“The gratitude I felt for him, for what he did for us, wore off after six months. I realized that I was so desperate to return the favor in any way I could that I had become this fucked up subservient weakling. And since then, every time I've tried to stand up for myself even a little he holds the whole thing over my head, threatens to take it all away and divorce me.”

“Fuckin' let him,” spat Mickey, “You'll get alimony, right?”

“Hell no. That asshole made me sign the most detailed prenup of all time. When we divorce, I get jack shit—except my freedom back.”

“I s'pose you know how priceless that is now, huh?”

Ian huffed a dark laugh and nodded.

“I feel like I'm walking on damn eggshells every day. Even now I have this stupid fear, because I'm telling you. If he found out that I told anyone, but especially an employee, he would destroy my life, I swear.”

“Hey, I'm not gonna say a word,” promised Mickey sincerely, “Not to anyone.”

Ian nodded and sent him a grateful look, even though he still couldn't rid himself of the irrational concern. If all these benefits suddenly went away, they would all be back to struggling to make ends meet. And as shitty as it was for Ian, his family was taken care of for the time being. He had nothing to worry about, other than his own discomfort.

“You know, you've had custody of Liam long enough that even if you get divorced, that shouldn't effect anything, right?” mused Mickey as he leaned forward on the table, “You and Lip have to be well off _enough_ financially.”

Ian smiled a bit at the enthusiasm and support.

“Yeah, you're right. Well, except I'm pretty sure he'll spitefully pull strings to have me fired from my current job, since he was the one who got it for me. But, I wouldn't want to work so close to him, anyways. My plan has been to wait until I finish with school and can get my career setup.”

“How much longer do you have?”

Ian glanced up, letting his smile grow a little as he looked at Mickey.

“Depends how far I want to go. The soonest would be a little over a year left.”

“Shit,” breathed Mickey as he sat back again and scooped up his beer.

“Yeah. Originally I had planned to stick it out until either he divorced me, or Liam finished school, whichever came first.”

“Fuck that,” rebuffed Mickey as he swallowed down a gulp and looked to Ian with a deep scowl, “Liam probably wants you to leave that fuckhead, too, good school or not.”

Ian laughed, “Yeah, I think so, too. I just want to squeeze as much out of the situation as possible, to be honest.”

"Yeah, I get that. But, it's not really a hustle when you're taking hits, is it?"

Ian let out a slow breath and shrugged.

“Man, I didn't think I could hate that asshole more than I already did before I met you, yet here we the fuck are,” said Mickey with a shake his head.

Ian couldn't help but smile at that. Mickey inhaled the last of his beer and set it on the table, his eyes searching around the bar.

“Gonna get another one,” he announced as he stood, “You need another one?”

“Probably shouldn't,” chuckled Ian, “Kinda inhaled these two.”

Mickey smirked at him and headed off to the bar. Ian took in a deep, clear breath, and couldn't believe how good he felt. It was such a relief, finally getting everything off his chest. And Mickey was still hanging around.

Ian stood as well and headed to the bathroom to empty his bladder, again. As he washed his hands he looked into the mirror and found a much younger version of himself than he had just last weekend. It was as if a piece of him was restore.

There was practically a bounce to his step as he headed back to the booth, finding Mickey back in his seat, sipping on his new beer.

“So,” sang Ian as he dropped back into his side of the booth, “Now you know my story.”

“Yeah, the depressing tale of a dude trying to do right by his family and getting stuck in a shit situation, such a fun story, Gallagher.”

Ian laughed, “Shut up.”

Mickey laughed with him and Ian loved the sound with every fiber of his being. He had a beautiful laugh. Maybe that adoration was visible in his sight because Mickey's eyes got hooked on his suddenly. He paused in lifting his beer and the corner of his mouth quirked a little higher. Even once he'd taken a drink and set the glass on the table, he still kept looking at Ian.

“What?” smiled Ian, he couldn't stop himself from smiling while Mickey was looking at him like that, unabashedly studying him. He swallowed roughly when Mickey's tongue snaked out onto his lower lip, pulling it into his mouth to pin under his teeth for a moment. The entire thing seemed to happen in slow motion, or maybe Ian was just that famished and needy for him that his brain turned it into something pornographic.

“Feels an awful lot like you tricked me into a date is all,” said Mickey with a casual shrug.

“How do you figure?” asked Ian, hiding his guilty expression in the last quarter of his beer.

“You bought me dinner, we're having drinks, and you're telling me your life story. Isn't that how they're supposed to work?”

“I don't know. Has that been your experience?”

“That your way of asking bout my dating history or somethin'?” smirked Mickey, “Cause I think that's somethin' else people do on dates.”

Ian chuckled and leaned back, glancing around the bar, “Well, since you brought it up, how is it that you're still single?”

Mickey looked genuinely amused by that question. He flashed Ian a smile and let out a laugh, and Ian simply raised his brows expectantly. Mickey looked down to his beer and his lips twitched in the way that Ian was realizing might have been some kind of tick.

“Never actually tried datin' guys till I moved closer to the downtown. Thinkin' you understand why,” Mickey glanced up and Ian frowned with understanding. “Took a bit to feel comfortable with the idea, even after livin' on my own for like a year. But, ya know, started wantin' more than a quick bang, I guess.”

Ian understood that all too well. He'd unfortunately had his freedom to find something significant stripped from him before he could find it, though.

“Anything serious?” mumbled Ian in question as he reached for his pack of smokes.

Mickey followed suit and lit one as well before sitting back and throwing his elbow up on the back of the booth. He looked Ian over a bit, as if he was calculating the best answer for him.

“Nah. Most guys can't handle my damage, I guess,” said Mickey dismissively, as if that wasn't a painful thing to admit to. “I couldn't handle most of them either, really. Longest one ended up driving me fuckin' insane by the third month. Pretty sure I'm fucked for life in that department.”

“Sucks, man.”

“Ah, it's whatever. Been on my own my whole life, don't really matter anymore.”

“Just because you started that way, doesn't mean it has to end that way.”

Mickey looked away blowing out a loud hit of smoke, “Don't matter to me. How bout you, Gallagher? Anything more significant than a sham of a marriage?”

Ian snorted, leaning forward to tap ash into the plastic ashtray on the end of the table.

“There were a couple guys I dated before. One cheated, another only wanted to party, and the other couldn't understand my _biological damage_.”

“Biological damage?”

Ian grimaced, “You've heard enough of my depressing shit already.”

Mickey raised his brows impatiently, waving a hand in an expectant motion.

“Hereditary disorder,” said Ian simply, “Otherwise guys just wanted me for sex—or in a lot of cases, to feel young again.”

“Gross,” laughed Mickey, “Older than John?”

“John's only thirty-five. He's still pretty young.”

“Still way too old for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian leaned onto his forearms on the table with a knowing smile, “Should I be looking for guys my age, or _yours_?”

Mickey smiled at him for only a second before turning his head away, but that second was burned into Ian's brain, giving him small little happy shocks to his system.

“Maybe you're too old for me, too, huh?” teased Ian.

Mickey quickly gave him a look and said, “You sayin' I'm old? Barely older than you. And fuckin' eight years younger than your husband, asshole.”

“Nah, I just like getting' a rise out of ya. That and I wanted you to look at me, again.”

“Fuck off,” chuckled Mickey, but he did keep his eyes on Ian for a very long following moment. Ian smiled wider and wider, inhaling the gift that was Mickey Milkovich's gaze. The moment was swelling between them, encapsulating them, and Ian resisted every urge that screamed at him to reach across the table for any kind of touch.

But, then, Mickey looked away, smashing his cigarette out into the ashtray.

“Should get goin', man,” he murmured, “I've gotta get some work done tomorrow.”

“On a saturday?”

Mickey stood, throwing his jacket and coat on in a smooth motion, and said, “I'll be workin' at home on the weekends for the next few weeks, thanks to John fuckin' Woods.”

Ian felt a shimmer of shame as he stood to apply his own coat. Their happy little bubble was officially popped and reality was back in full force. Mickey mumbled about taking a piss and wandered off to the restroom while Ian pulled in a long breath of preparation. Soon, he would be back at home, living in the same old stifling atmosphere.

But, for now, he looked around the bar and imagined his life had gone differently. He imagined he was still living on the southside, barely managing in college, and on what constituted a normal date on this side of town with the beautiful guy from a few blocks over. This is what his life could have been. It may have been stressful, but at least he wouldn't have been as lonely, or drained of life.

“So, you and Mickey, huh?” asked Kev as he approached to clear the table, interrupting Ian's rumination. “Did you get tired of your fancy ass husband?”

Ian let out a laugh as Kevin smiled at him, collecting the empty glasses from the table.

“Mickey and I are friends,” argued Ian, “We work in the same area and just kind of bonded.”

“Friends,” laughed Kevin as he walked back to the other side of the bar, “Friends don't give each other fuck-me-eyes like that, Ian.”

Ian couldn't help his grin as he rolled his eyes at him. He was grateful that Kevin let up when Mickey wandered back out, though.

“Ready to go?” asked Ian as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tugged his head towards the door.

Mickey nodded and breezed right by him towards the door. Ian couldn't ignore the smug smile on Kevin's face as he followed behind.

“Well, thanks for buyin' me dinner, Gallagher,” said Mickey once they were outside, “I'll see ya around.”

“What? Trying to run away? I thought I was giving you a ride home.”

“You ain't gotta do that, man.”

“I have a car, Mickey, why would you waste your energy and money taking the long way?”

Mickey scowled a bit, but lamented with a quick, “Fine, whatever.”

Ian beamed and lead the way back to the car like the winner that he was.

Most of the car ride was quiet, apart from Mickey giving him directions to get to his place, but quiet or not, they certainly looked at each other a lot. Ian barely remembered the drive, considering how much of it he spent sneaking peaks at Mickey.

“That's me,” breathed Mickey, pointing to a four-story apartment complex on the corner.

“Uhmmm.” Ian didn't see any free street parking and tried not to get too excited for every extra moment he was getting. “There parking?”

“Around back.”

Ian drove around to the other side of the block and found an alleyway that lead to a large parking lot surrounded by the brick buildings. It was relatively full but he managed to find a spot to squeeze into and looked to Mickey as he threw it in park.

“Alright, thanks for the ride, man,” said Mickey with his hand already on the door handle.

Ian panicked, stuttering out, “Uh, I, uhm—Thank you, Mickey. I mean, for tonight. Thanks.”

Mickey paused, biting the corner of his lip, before he let his fingers slip off of the handle.

“You're the one who drove and paid for everything.”

“Yeah, but,” Ian looked away, at the steering wheel, “I just really appreciate you listening to me. Haven't exactly had anyone to talk to about everything. Except my brother, and I don't want to worry him. He's a problem fixer, ya know?”

A quiet moment passed and Ian grew concerned he was making it too heavy, but it had to be said. He was so grateful.

“Situation's really eatin' you up, huh?” questioned Mickey quietly.

“Sometimes the lie of it all is kind of suffocating,” admitted Ian, “I'm facing it by myself, but I can't even _be_ myself...I don't think I've ever felt so alone.”

As an even longer moment of silence passed by Ian couldn't find the courage to even glance at Mickey. He frowned and tried to think of a casual apology for being too overwhelming. But, then he felt something softly brush across his hand on the middle counsel. He looked down and found Mickey's fingers very gently sitting across the back of his own.

Finally, Ian looked to him, but found Mickey was staring at their hands with what looked like genuine fear in his eyes, like he was waiting for his hand to grow teeth and bite him.

Ian watched closely as he turned his hand over and intertwined their fingers. Mickey quickly glanced at him, before turning his head to look at him fully. His fingers were still stiff, and his eyes still wavered with uncertainty, but he didn't pull away.

Ian offered him a smile and let his thumb glide up the side of his hand. Mickey looked down, but the corner of his mouth lifted sweetly and his fingers closed in on Ian's hand.

Ian rested his head back against his seat, watching every little twitch in Mickey's expression with adoration. He wondered how someone who'd rudely told him off nearly every time they'd met could have such a soft looking side to him. Ian wanted to get to know this side more.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed as they quietly basked in the moment, with no other sound than the soft hum of the car's fans cooling the engine down.

“Starin' pretty hard,” murmured Mickey, turning his head enough to look at him with his smile quirking higher. Ian grinned and shrugged.

“Can't help it, Mick,” said Ian, “Think you're pretty gorgeous.”

Mickey snorted. “Told ya you've got shitty taste.”

“Hey, don't trash it,” teased Ian, “This is different than the usual.”

“Think so?”

“Way different,” assured Ian confidently, “I can't even remember the last time I wanted a guy just because I do, you know? My attraction to you is just so...natural. I kind of can't help myself.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“You do?”

“Better than you think, man,” said Mickey lowly.

As Mickey's eyes then wandered him slowly, Ian felt a flutter in his stomach bloom into a wild fire that made him both ache and tingle all over. He uncontrollably gripped Mickey's hand tighter and watched a smug grin bloom on Mickey's face. He looked into Ian's eyes confidently, like he knew exactly what he was doing to him internally. Ian held his breath tight as he felt himself getting hard.

Jesus, had he ever been aroused just by eye contact before? He felt like a horny teenager, again. Or maybe something even more desperate than that. Mickey's eyes slipped down Ian's length once more, until he discovered the evidence of explanation for Ian's serious expression and shifting body. He raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“Shit,” said Mickey with an amused huff, “Doesn't take much for you, does it?”

Ian shut his eyes for a moment as Mickey's observing was only making him harder.

“You could say I'm starved for attention that I actually _want_ ,” returned Ian tightly before looking to Mickey with a reddening face, “And I already told you, I think you're gorgeous. Pretty sure if you just breathe on me I'd be done for.”

Mickey laughed and Ian joined in, feeling his tension dissolve into pure excitement. But, as Mickey pulled his hand away Ian's laughter halted.

“Alright, get in the backseat, Gallagher,” said Mickey unexpectedly as he shimmied his way out of his puffy parka.

“What?” asked Ian, entirely dumbfounded.

“I said, get your ass in the backseat,” demanded Mickey, freezing up to give Ian an impatient look. If Ian wasn't hard before he definitely was now. He looked around the parking lot nervously—excitedly. He didn't see anyone, and the floodlights seemed to be on their last leg.

“You've got tinted windows, Genius,” chuckled Mickey, “No one's gonna see. Get back there.”

Ian didn't have to be coerced anymore than that as he unbuckled his belt and looked Mickey over while he shucked off his own coat. “Backseat, huh?” murmured Ian before he began his climb back between the two front seats.

“I do my best work when I don't gotta stretch across a fuckin' plastic counsel.”

Ian's brain stuttered at the implications of what Mickey said, causing him to drop like a rock into the backseat. He clumsily turned around and sat against the door just as Mickey joined him. He smiled and began to reach for him, when Mickey suddenly yanked Ian down to a slouching position with arresting strength that only made Ian's heart race more and more. He watched Mickey with wide eyes and slowly bent his one leg up on the seat, waiting for his next move.

Ian's breath was stolen as Mickey gave him a lecherous smile and leaned in close, warming the space between them. As they stared into one another's eyes he could hardly focus on Mickey's hands that unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He looked around Mickey's face and hair, noting so many places he wanted to touch, but then he went stiff as a board as Mickey's surprisingly warm hand slithered down into his pants. He began to slowly stroke Ian, whose eyes dropped to Mickey's lips. He wanted to kiss him. He _needed_ to kiss him.

But, Mickey's mouth went to his neck and his hand slipped inside of Ian's boxer briefs instead. Ian's eyes closed while his mouth fell open in surprise of all the pleasure suddenly coursing through his body. He turned his head to the side a bit, giving Mickey all the access to the side of his neck that he wanted, and focused solely on how fucking amazing it felt to have Mickey's hand wrapped around him, squeezing the perfect amount of pressure as it slowly moved up and down his shaft.

“Mm, you feel pretty big,” breathed Mickey onto his skin.

When Mickey's thumb circled around his head Ian uncontrollably murmured a string of incoherent words and wrapped his hand around the back of Mickey's neck, pulling him even tighter to his neck. He thinks he may have even _thanked_ Mickey among his rambling whispered words.

However, Mickey suddenly broke away, pulling his hand out of his pants, and Ian whimpered painfully at the loss.

“Jesus, don't worry, man,” chuckled Mickey, “I promise I'm gonna take care of ya.”

Ian didn't even remotely care how pathetic he looked and sounded right now. He was desperate.

Mickey wrapped his fingers into Ian's pants and boxers, then gave them a tug. Ian promptly lifted his hips so Mickey could pull them down as far as he wanted. When his already straining erection came free from his clothes he watched Mickey's expression changed. He eyed it with surprise.

Ian swore he was about to come just from having Mickey look at him with so much desire. And when Mickey raised his gaze to him, smirking like he'd just found gold at the end of the rainbow, he quickly had to reach down and squeezed the base of his dick. There was no way he was going to let this end so soon.

Mickey's smile spread wide and he let out a laugh. “You really are starved for attention, huh?”

“You're just fucking sexy,” countered Ian.

“Oh, yeah?” said Mickey lowly in a voice that almost had Ian shivering with delight. Mickey leaned in close, so close. Their lips brushed together and Ian closed his eyes, waiting for the kiss he had been dreaming of for weeks. But, instead, Mickey spoke against his mouth, “And you're way bigger than I thought. Wish I could sit on that, right now.”

Ian groaned, opening his mouth for the wet, heated, kiss he ached for. However, Mickey's lips were suddenly gone. Before he could even open his eyes he felt them pressing hotly just below his navel. Ian couldn't even try to open his eyes as Mickey's lips waltzed along his abdomen and hips. He was sure he couldn't be anymore turned on and had to bite his tongue to resist begging Mickey for relief. So, instead he just moaned and focused on breathing through the near painful desire.

“Got a condom?” murmured Mickey before nipping at one of his hips.

“Wallet—inner pocket of my coat.”

Mickey pulled away and Ian finally opened his eyes again. He wondered if maybe he was about to get an even bigger treat than he had been thinking, so he walked around the question by stating, “I'm totally clean.”

“I'm sure ya are,” said Mickey as he turned back and flipped open Ian's wallet. He found the condom paired with a small packet of lube and dropped the wallet aside, “But, I'm still not sucking your dick without a rubber until I know _for sure_.”

“Really?” Ian wasn't sure he'd ever experienced such sexual safety, which made him distractedly think of all the risky moments of his past in a quick flash.

“I've made it twenty-seven years without getting even an STI, somehow,” said Mickey with a shrug, “So, my ass is going to stay extra cautious in that department.”

“I can pull up the results of my last checkup on my phone,” blurted Ian, bringing Mickey to give him a smirk.

“So eager,” he mumbled with a pleased gaze while he ripped the package open, “With how worked up you are, it's probably better if you have something dull the sensation, anyhow.”

Ian blushed and rolled his eyes in an attempt to recover some of his pride. He'd never really had to worry about premature ejaculation, so it was an extra sting being this sensitive in front of Mickey. He watched as Mickey squeezed a bit of lube into the tip of the condom and spoke, “Wait until the tables are turned. I'll bet I can turn you on without barely trying.”

Mickey snorted and motioned down with his eyes, “You already have. Not the first time, either.”

Ian attempted to look at his crotch in the darkness of the car, but was immediately distracted and without a single steady thought as Mickey began to ease the condom onto him. He walked it down a bit with his fingers before his warm mouth wrapped around his head and his hand wrapped around fully, to stroke it down the rest of the way. Ian let out a groan and found his head falling back against the door with a dull thud.

Mickey's tongue applied impressive pressure against the underside of Ian's head, while his hand began to twist in it's up and down motion. Ian hissed out a few swears and began to breathe louder. Briefly, Mickey sucked on Ian's head before pulling his mouth away. His hand tightened a bit and moved faster, all the way up where his thumb moved in a quick circle. Ian felt his muscles tensing and he arched desperately into the vigorous touch.

Mickey seemed to shift more onto the floor and unexpectedly pressed his lips back to Ian's waist. Ian peeked through his lashes to watch as Mickey's hand didn't let up for a second, while his head was bowed over his hip. He eyed Mickey's hair for a moment, until he felt his hot tongue slide in a fluid motion across his skin from one hip to the next; that had Ian grabbing a handful of Mickey's hair without another thought as he shuddered through the bliss. He again arched up and closed his eyes as he felt his orgasm already building once more.

Mickey laid a few more wide kisses against Ian's sensitive skin, up to his side where he playfully bit him. Ian grunted in surprise and opened his eyes to watch Mickey smile at him, just as his hand slowed to a technique as thick as honey. Ian kept his eyes glued to Mickey and released his hair, attempting to take a steadying breath, while the brunette shifted more onto the seat again, straddling Ian's leg that was stretched out to the floor behind the driver's seat.

Mickey's hand halted at the base of him and began to only twist back and forth while his mouth returned to the party again. Ian let out a loud breathy moan as Mickey slowly swallowed him down more and more and more. His eyes tried to shut again, but Ian refused to look away as his cock disappeared into Mickey's mouth. Ian's fingers eagerly returned to Mickey's hair as he began to bob, sucking strongly at him.

“Holy fuck, Mickey,” gasped Ian as he curled his toes tightly in his shoes and closed his eyes once more. All other senses shut off for a moment as he focused on the pleasure racing through his body, over and over, like electricity.

Mickey began to move faster and faster, and Ian reached his other hand down to grab it's own handful of Mickey's styled hair. He squirmed uncontrollably and his leg between Mickey's thighs unmistakably brushed up against his own apparent erection that was pressing tight against his slacks. Ian shifted his leg up against it, then again, and again, until he heard and felt Mickey moaning around his cock.

Ian wished he could reach it. He hungrily thought about shoving his hand down into Mickey's pants to return the same pleasure and felt another electric shock zip through his body. Ian frantically thrusted up into Mickey's mouth, and the brunette groaned, sending a delicious pulse down Ian's cock.

Suddenly, Mickey was tucking his hands under Ian and lifting his hips from the seat, forcing him deeper into Mickey's mouth until he felt his head hit his throat. Ian panted louder and louder as Mickey began to do this again and again, still bobbing his head eagerly against the motion.

This was exactly what he had been trying to convey; he couldn't remember the last time he had received pleasure, just for pleasure. Especially, like this.

Ian opened his eyes to watch the impressive work and released a strangled groan at the sight, pushing his left foot into the seat tightly. His orgasm had reached a _no return_ point and he was more than ready for it.

“Holy fucking shit,” he _sobbed_ , holding so tightly onto Mickey's hair he couldn't believe he hadn't ripped any out.

“Let me see your eyes—Let me see—”

When those crystal clear blue eyes rose to him through the darkness of the car, locking onto his own gaze, he felt his orgasm barreling forward violently.

“Fuck, I'm gonna come—I'm gonna—I'm gonna come—“

Mickey's eyes _smiled_ , and he set Ian's hips back down on the seat, only to slide one hand up the inside of Ian's shirt against his abs. Mickey's technique turned languid through the entirety of his orgasm, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from Ian's body.

Ian was completely wrecked as he came into the condom. And it took an alarming amount of time to recover, or maybe no time at all, considering Ian was spiritually out of the existence of time during.

When he opened his eyes he found Mickey leaned back against the driver's seat, rubbing his jaw, and still catching his breath, as well. They began to stare at one another while Ian slowly sat up more against the door. He swallowed roughly when he instead focused on his shaking hands that slowly removed the condom to tie it off.

He sank against the door again and spoke hoarsely, “Fuck, Mickey. Holy shit.”

Mickey let out a laugh and Ian quickly shook his head, looking to him once more.

“I'm serious, _holy fucking shit_.”

Mickey grinned at him and his tongue slipped out to rub the corner of his mouth. Ian felt a switch flip and reached a hand out. Mickey just looked at it, raising a brow.

“C'mon,” coasted Ian, “Come here.”

Mickey let out a soft laugh through his nose and gradually placed his hand in Ian's. He immediately pulled on Mickey until he was in his lap. Ian felt like he wouldn't be able to survive without finally getting a kiss.

“No, no,” laughed Mickey, pulling back enough to brace his hands on Ian's chest.

“What's wrong?” asked Ian with a slight whine.

He began to roam his hands around Mickey's back while he eyed his plump, pink lips with need.

“I just think I should head inside,” shrugged Mickey, “Call it a night, ya know?”

“Without me returning the favor?” questioned Ian incredulously. “Why?”

He glanced down to the erection he could still feel through Mickey's slacks, to confirm it wasn't because of a lack of desire.

“I didn't do that to you cause I wanted somethin' in return, Carrot Top.”

Ian smiled softly and returned, “Regardless, I'd like to give you _something_ in return.”

“Don't worry about it, man,” dismissed Mickey as he pulled away completely.

Ian worriedly watched him climb back into the front seat as he gradually pulled his pants back up and buttoned them. Mickey already had his coat on and was opening the passenger door by the time Ian had climbed his way back into the driver's seat.

Mickey stepped out and promptly lit up a cigarette before turning back to look inside the car.

“Did I do something wrong?” frowned Ian.

“No,” returned Mickey quickly with widening eyes, “You didn't do anything wrong. Promise.”

Ian nodded, but couldn't quite believe that as it seemed Mickey was ready to run away from the situation.

“I'm gonna head up, but thanks for everything,” offered Mickey, “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me, too,” smiled Ian, even if he was unsure of the conclusion. “Have a good night, Mick.”

Mickey gave him one last once over and smiled as he shut the passenger door. Ian didn't move an inch while he watched Mickey walk away, puffing on his cigarette, towards his apartment building.

What the hell happened?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get a chance to read over this, so apologies for any mistakes!! Thanks for reading <3


	7. Like a Tide Hits the Shore And Here We Go Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short update of what immediately follows after him dropping Mickey off :)

The drive was long. Longer than it should've been as Ian's thoughts were obsessive while he drove home. They bordered on madness.

He had gone over every detail of the night a dozen times by the time he had parked in his assigned spot of the parking garage for his condo. He eyed the sign that read _Ian Woods_ and felt miserable as he shut off the car.

Ian had dropped the used condom into the empty fast food bag, so he grabbed that to discreetly discard of the evidence in the trash by the door. Once tossing it in he paused and decided he needed a cigarette before he returned to his home, so he leaned against the wall next to the door.   
A need to just sit down filled him and he knew it wasn't exhaustion, but a mental weight that could not be measured. He was such a mess. He'd had the best night that he'd had in too many years, yet he was still a bundle of emotions.

His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and he slipped it out with a frown, expecting a text from John wondering where he was. So, his heart skipped excitedly when he realized it was from Mickey.

 **Mickey:** _Just figured if I didn't leave ya then I'd end up inviting you inside._

Ian read the message over several times, feeling near euphoric at the sudden switch in his mood. Before he could type a reply, another text came through.

 **Mickey:** _Shit sorry I shouldn't have texted without knowing where you are_

 **Mickey:** _I was just worried you thought I wasn't into it_

Ian was grinning now as he typed a reply.

 **Ian:** _It's okay! I'm not inside yet :) Thanks for texting, Mick. I actually was kinda worried lol_

 **Mickey:** _Oh ok good :) Yeah don't be worried_

Ian raised his brows at the smiling emoji. Mickey had never sent him one of those before.

 **Ian:** _Well just so you know I would've said yes if you'd invited me up..._

 **Mickey:** _And I wouldn't have let ya leave for the rest of the night lol_

Ian let out a bashful sound as he deposited his cigarette butt into the cone shaped butt hut by the trash. He lit up another one, though, when he returned to the wall, feeling his nerves buzzing happily, now.

 **Ian:** _Still could've let me kiss you a little [pouty face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _Lol but if we did you'd be in this apartment right now_

Ian pulled in a breath laced with butterflies. So, he _also_ shared the burning need for a kiss. It seemed they both knew just how fulfilling a kiss would be. To finally feel the collision of the electricity that was in a constant state of flickering between the both of them.

 **Ian:** _Probably right about that haha I want to kiss you so bad I don't know if I could stop once we started._

 **Mickey:** _Feeling is mutual, firecrotch lol_

 **Ian:** _Can we do this again next friday? :)_

His phone went quiet and Ian's brow furrowed worriedly, again. He sucked on his cigarette and kept the screen lit up as he waited, and waited.

 **Mickey:** _Idk. If we make this a frequent thing it'll get risky. Now that I know everything I don't wanna fuck up both our lives. Too much on the line._

The weight of that had Ian's light dimming instantly. They both had too much to lose. He didn't even want to think about all of that. He just wanted to pretend a little longer, so he decided to make light of the situation.

 **Ian:** _Every other week?_

 **Ian:** _Once a month?_

 **Ian:** _[tongue face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _lmao you're relentless_

 **Ian:** _It's your fault_

 **Mickey:** _Yeah? How so?_

 **Ian:** _You just gave me the best head I've ever had_

The unexpected sound of tires squealing on asphalt had Ian jumping and raising his eyes. John was pulling into the spot next to his car, and Ian realized just how out of it he had been. He didn't even consider that John's car was gone when he pulled up.

Ian quickly shoved his phone in his pocket as John looked out his window at him, before exiting the vehicle.

“Hey,” greeted Ian with a standard smile for his husband.

“What are you doing?”

Ian tensed as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, unnecessarily paranoid that John could somehow hear it.

“Just finishing my cigarette,” answered Ian, raising what remained of the smoking stick.

“Couldn't wait until you got inside?” inquired John as he approached with a skeptical look.

“It was a stressful drive home. Everyone was on the freeway tonight, I swear,” lied Ian smoothly, “Where you coming back from?”

He put his cigarette out, knowing John would just wait with an impatient look until he did.

“Hanging with friends,” shrugged John, “Went out for some drinks.”

“Did you have fun?”

John entered the code to get into the building and pulled open the door, with Ian filing in behind him as he entered. They walked down the wide hall that lead to their double front doors while John answered.

“Yeah, it was good. Really needed to blow off some steam. Works been stressing me out lately.”

“I don't doubt it. You've got that tight deadline coming up, right?”

John unlocked the front door, but paused to glance back at Ian with suspicion.

“Did I tell you about that?”

Shit. Maybe he hadn't? Maybe it was just Mickey.

“You mentioned it at the party, I think,” lied Ian, forcing his expression to remain casual, as he reached out to pull the door open.

“Hmph. Well, how was the ghetto?” asked John while they entered the foyer.

Ian scratched his nose in attempt to hide the way his teeth clenched. He always said things like that with so much judgment in his tone. He forced what he hoped looked like an amused smile as he turned his head to look at John.

“The usual. Still busted and dirty.”

John snorted, “Yeah, you smell like that crusty bar you like so much.”

Ian couldn't help the way he glared at the back of John's head as he watched him strip away his coat. Why did he have to be such a prick all the time? The hell did Ian ever do to him?

John tossed his coat over the decorative chair in their foyer and turned to Ian with a strangely interested gaze.

As Ian pulled off his coat, he tried not to feel like his phone inside of it was heavy with the weight of his sins, but he swore it was screaming the truth at John, especially with the man just staring at him. He grabbed John's coat and hung them both up in the coat closet just past the foyer. When he turned and shut the door behind him he found John smiling at him. This was always concerning.

“What?” asked Ian with a hesitant smile.

“The twerp's gone, now,” shrugged John, “Just wondered if I could get something from you tonight.”

“ _Something_?” repeated Ian with a laugh. “Like my dick?”

John grinned and was suddenly moving closer. Ian tried to stamp down the panic that he would insist on it immediately before Ian could clean up the evidence that he'd already had someone on his dick earlier.

He slid his hands onto Ian's arms and leaned in close for a kiss, which Ian obliged with as much false passion he could manage at the moment.

“Mm, maybe you could brush the ashy taste out of your mouth first, though,” murmured John against his mouth with an amused tone, “I'm gonna shower.”

He kissed Ian again, who was flooded with relief from his last words, “Sounds good. I might do the same.”

“Meet you in the room in thirty?” smirked John.

“See you there,” laughed Ian, finding an unhealthy amusement at the strangeness of the situation.

John hummed a bit and looked Ian over, before unexpectedly moving in for another kiss. Ian wondered just how much he'd had to drink with his friends, as he tasted vodka on John's tongue. John pushed Ian back against the wall by the closet and suddenly his hands were moving around his body. Ian shut his eyes tight and tried to clear his mind as he touched John in return. It was difficult as the fear of John finding anything amiss on him flickered inside of him repeatedly.

Ian pulled away and let out a nervous laugh, “Can't wait the thirty minutes, huh?”

“I got a little worked up at the club,” murmured John as he leaned into Ian's throat.

The memory of Mickey kissing that very spot flashed in his mind and he grabbed hold of John in a panic. He flipped them around immediately, to avoid John even breathing on that spot of skin, and pressed him into the wall instead.

Ian put on his best charming smile and spoke in a husky voice, “Oh yeah? Tell me what got you so worked up.”

He made a wish that the tension in his body wasn't obvious as he instead kissed John's neck, gently at first. John released a noisy breath and grabbed onto Ian's back.

“Danced with this guy,” murmured John as he pushed his body into Ian's.

Ian stuttered his movements, but he liked the sound of that so much that he gave John's neck a wide, hot kiss in reward. Open relationship, open relationship, open relationship. Ian couldn't stop thinking the words with hope and Mickey on his mind.

“What else did you do with this guy?” asked Ian through a hot breath.

“Not enough.”

“Why not?”

John let out a laugh and pulled Ian's head back to look at him.

“Sounds like you like the idea, too,” he smirked, “Should I have brought him home with me?”

Ian swallowed and tried to think of a way to deflect that idea without sounding repulsed.

“No, but it's not like you haven't fucked other guys since we've been married,” shrugged Ian with a smile, “And I really don't mind if you fuck around.”

John raised his brows in surprise, but smiled wider. “You don't, huh?” he spoke, “I'll keep that in mind next time.”

“Well, it's not like we got married because we love each other,” continued Ian innocently, “Why should it matter if we fuck around, right?”

John's smile began to fall and Ian regretted his words.

“It matters to me if the husband I _pay for_ ruins my image.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ian, pulling away more.

“Your job is to give the appearance of being a dutiful husband. If someone catches you with someone else, how is that going to make me look?”

Ian shouldn't have been surprised by the double-standard, and yet he was. Not to mention irritated.

“I get your point,” nodded Ian, “Just wanted to make sure you knew I wouldn't hold it against you if you did something.”

“As if you could,” laughed John, before leaving a kiss on Ian's cheek, “I'm ready for that shower, now.”

He gave Ian's side a pat before walking away, leaving Ian entirely annoyed and feeling like the piece of property that he was. He might've stood in the same spot for two whole minutes, just seething with resentment, before he thought of how his phone had buzzed earlier.

Ian quickly opened the closet door and fished his phone out from his big coat pocket, unlocking the screen as fast as he could. He glanced out to the empty hall before reading the message.

 **Mickey:** _Believe me it was my pleasure haha_

Ian grinned and felt soothed immediately. He slipped the phone into his pants pocket and headed down towards the kitchen. The bedroom door was shut, which was always a relief, so he headed for the bathroom he always used. Once inside, with the door locked, he typed out a few messages.

 **Ian:** _Sorry about that. He's home [eye rolling emoji]_

 **Ian:** _Tell me more about how much you liked it :)_

Mickey responded pretty quickly, and Ian couldn't help but hope he had been waiting for Ian's reply.

 **Mickey:** _You sure you shouldn't erase our messages and call it a night?_

 **Ian:** _I'm in the bathroom about to take a shower. The door's locked if it makes you feel any better._

 **Mickey:** _Oh. In that case maybe you could do me a favor?_

 **Ian:** _Anything!_

 **Mickey:** _Haha always so eager, Gallagher..._

Ian blushed, but before he could reply another message came through.

 **Mickey:** _Send me some pics?_

He was actually a little shocked at the suggestion. Maybe he had unlocked a whole new side of Mickey tonight. One that he was raring to get to know more.

 **Mickey:** _Only if you want_

Ian grinned at the phone and quickly typed out a reply.

 **Ian:** _I'll always send you pics if you want them :)_

 **Mickey:** _Fuck yeah_

 **Mickey:** _Already jerked off but I'm too turned on gotta go again_

 **Mickey:** _Can't stop thinking about your cock_

Said cock came to life from reading those words. Ian blew out a breath as he shifted through the heat rushing through his body.

 **Ian:** _Shit Mick that's so hot_

 **Ian:** _I'm getting hard again_

 **Mickey:** _Show me_

Ian practically ripped his clothes away from his body, staring at the phone he set on the bathroom counter the whole time. It seemed Mickey was going to quietly wait.

Ian attempted to stroke himself to full hardness, but the lube that remained on his skin had become sticky. He turned on the sink and warmed the water to a bearable point, before wetting his hand and wrapping it around his dick. He gave it a few strokes before getting more water, then repeated the process until his hand was gliding easily up and down his shaft.

It didn't take too much work to get himself fully aroused, as the exhilaration of sending Mickey pictures fueled his desire. He wasted no time starting his mini photoshoot then. He took several pictures from a high angle to capture everything, including his eyes and confident smirk, then took a few from different angles that focused on everything below his chest. The proof of how much Mickey getting off to pictures of him turned him on was the star of the show.

He was nervous, but ridiculously excited, as he sent the three best ones. He distracted himself from the wait of a reply by deleting all of the pictures from his phone. When he found himself still waiting, he set the phone down and turned on the shower.

Ian nearly fell into the large tub when he heard his phone vibrate. He whipped around and scooped it up.

**Mickey:** _Holy shit Ian_

**Mickey:** _Want you so bad_

Ian beamed happily as even more texts poured into his inbox.

 **Mickey:** _So fuckin hot_

 **Mickey:** _Should've stayed in that car and let you fuck my brains out_

 **Mickey:** _I'd kill a motherfucker to have that dick in me rn_

Those replies made Ian ache and twitch all over.

As Ian's confidence boomed he turned his camera on again, but switched it to video. He wrapped his hand back around himself and started pumping again as he focused on the memories of everything Mickey had done to him in the car earlier. His heart began to race as pleasure poured in, smooth and hot.

Ian started recording as his chest flexed a bit in response to the ripples of pleasure moving through him; his mind foggy with Mickey. He gazed directly into the camera and let his mouth fall open as he started breathing heavily, stroking himself faster and faster.

He shut his eyes and imagined Mickey was right there in front of him, watching him, and bit back a moan.

Ian leaned back against the wall next to the shower and furrowed his brow as he squeezed himself a bit more, thinking of Mickey staring up at him with pleased eyes while he swallowed his cock. He was leaking precum when he opened his mouth again and caved, moaning out, “ _Mickey_...”

His thumb immediately pressed the stop button, thankfully before the shock of what he'd done popped in his expression. He released himself immediately, glancing to the other wall in fear. If John had heard him...

No, there was no way he could hear him over the high pressured water spraying in the shower. Ian repeated this thought as he sent the video to Mickey. But, the reality was plain in his view, now. He needed to cut this off and shower. If he took any longer John would be knocking on the door. Ian glanced down at his hard-on and considered that he'd at least be able to use it. He'd just have to keep Mickey in mind. That wouldn't be difficult.

He set his phone down again on the counter and forced himself into the shower. His mind annoyingly flickered between his joy with Mickey to the expectations of his husband. It made him feel unstable, which always gave him spikes of concern. He couldn't figure if this situation was good or bad for his mental state.

The sounds of his phone buzzing repeatedly did steal his focus enough that he finished his shower very quickly, and with a smile, regardless of his lost erection. He barely dried his hands off as he stepped out and scooped up his phone.

 **Mickey:** _Fuck!!_

 **Mickey:** _Jfc Ian that was the hottest thing I've ever seen_

 **Mickey:** _I just came so fuckin hard_

Ian grinned and let out a happy laugh.

 **Ian:** _You can hold onto that one [winky face emoji]_

 **Ian:** _Wish I could have one of you._

Just typing those words sent a miserable feeling through his system. He felt his freedom unbearably restricted as he typed out the next message.

 **Ian:** _Gonna have to stop texting now :( I had a lot of fun tho_

 **Mickey:** _Oh ok. Have a good night, Gallagher_

 **Mickey:** _I had fun too_

Ian smiled, digging deep for strength to delete the messages. At least he had the memories, he told himself as he deleted the entire thread. He shut his eyes and let every good memory from this eventful evening fill his mind. He let them play over and over again as he left the bathroom and headed into the bedroom where John was waiting.

 


	8. So Far Away but Still So Near

Mickey took in a fluttery breath as he spied Ian in the lobby, already wearing a steady, sure smile for him. He had to glance away as he walked over to him, unable to maintain the strong eye contact the redhead was offering.

“Hi,” greeted Ian with an excited tone.

“Yeah, hi,” returned Mickey with his own uncontrollable smile.

He looked Ian over and wondered if there had ever been a time in his life when he didn't look absolutely perfect. His eyes settled on the coffee in Ian's left hand and his eyebrows twitched while he nodded at it.

“Oh,” Ian quickly held it out for Mickey, “It might be cooler than usual. I got here kinda early.”

“Why?” murmured Mickey as he took a sip of the coffee, finding it the perfect temperature to chug, but still enjoy.

Ian shrugged, tucking his hand into his pocket, “Just in case you did, too.”

Mickey's heart jumped and he bit back what would surely be a goofy smile.

“It'd probably be suspicious if we hung out in the lobby for a long time,” Mickey pointed out.

“Guess so,” breathed Ian.

They stood in silence for a moment while Mickey sipped his coffee and they repeatedly exchanged heavy glances. After Friday it seemed that now it was unbearable to be in each other's presence without being able to even _speak_ openly, and yet Mickey was grateful that he was starting his day with at least the smallest dose of Ian.

“So, watch any good videos recently?”

Coffee almost came out of Mickey's nose as he took a drink at the wrong damn time. He coughed a few times, while Ian laughed at him. Mickey had to fight hard against the urge to flip the redhead off as he found himself also laughing through a playful scowl.

“How many times did you watch it in the last two days?” asked Ian through a cocky grin that had Mickey glaring his eyes.

“I should probably get to work,” he countered.

“Alright, you can text me the details then,” winked Ian, and Mickey took a large drink of his coffee to cover up the way his face flushed in response.

“Oh, hey, um, before you go,” Ian dropped his voice low with a serious look that had his brow scrunching a bit, while his eyes wandered down to the space between them. Mickey braced himself, glancing around nervously, before he looked Ian over. Ian was still caught in this strange pause for a moment longer as he suddenly leaned in closer.

And then a smile grew on his freckled face and Mickey felt his tension evaporate, replaced by disbelief, before Ian even spoke his piece.

“Just wanted to say that you look really good today, Mick.”

Ian's smile sprouted into a full out flirtatious grin that had Mickey shaking his head and moving away a large step, regardless of how charmed he actually was.

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” laughed Mickey softly,

Ian gave him an innocent shrug, as if saying he couldn't resist, and spoke, “Have a good day at work.”

“Yeah, uh, you, too,” returned Mickey, allowing himself a solid moment to peer into Ian's eyes before his needed departure. It was a true struggle to walk away, but he managed when the buzz of the lobby refilled his ears.

He had barely made it to the elevators before his phone went off with the first of many texts from Ian that day.

 

*

It was nice, albeit distracting, texting with Ian all day at work. This only made it stranger when a four hour silence set in, but he knew those were the potential John hours. Mickey ignored the way it irked him that he couldn't text Ian whenever he wanted, especially now that his obligations of the day were done. He made himself dinner and watched a little tv to distract himself, and before he knew it his phone was going off. Right on time.

 **Ian (9:35 p.m.):** _Hey :)_

 **Mickey:** _Yo. What ya up to?_

 **Ian:** _Just finishing up a paper for school. So not feeling motivated lately haha_

**Mickey:** _Maybe you're too distracted lol_

**Ian:** _Yeah you're right about that [tongue face emoji]_

 **Ian:** _So can I pick you up for work tomorrow? :)_

 **Mickey:** _What? Why?_

**Ian:** _I felt bad driving to work today knowing you had to walk to and from the bus stop_

**Mickey:** _I have legs for a reason, Gallagher._

**Ian:** _But it was 22 degrees. And snowing._

**Mickey:** _They were just flurries lol_

**Ian:** _Well still! I have a warm car for a reason :) It's going to snow pretty bad next week btw so you should just start letting me give you rides for the winter._

Mickey actually did consider it. He wouldn't have to leave as early, he wouldn't have to walk in the shit weather or deal with people on public transport, and he'd get extra alone time with Ian. But...

 **Mickey:** _Like I said if we make things frequent then it'll become risky_

 **Ian:** _Come on that's bullshit. How would anyone know if I dropped you like a block away?_

 **Mickey:** _Just don't wanna fuck anything up_

**Ian:** _Yeah alright scaredy cat_

Mickey scoffed at his phone.

**Mickey:** _I ain't no scaredy cat [middle finger emoji]_

**Ian:** _Suuure..._

**Mickey:** _Don't try to manipulate me into doing what you want Ian haha_

**Ian:** _Oooh you called me Ian, you must mean it!_

**Mickey:** _Yeah that's right_

**Mickey:** _Gallagher_

**Ian:** _[laughing emoji] Have I mentioned how much I love that you call me Gallagher?_

**Mickey:** _That right? How come?_

**Ian:** _Because I haven't legally been a Gallagher in a while and I miss it. Every time you say it, I feel like my old self. If that even makes sense lol_

**Mickey:** _Yeah I get it. Haven't felt like a Milkovich in a long time. Not sure if I want to be one though._

**Ian:** _What made you leave home anyways?_

Mickey paused. He considered that he understood why Ian had wanted to wait to talk about his baggage in person, considering his own had a weight too heavy for casual texting. However, he wasn't even sure if he was ready for that, either. He'd never talked to anyone about it. Ever. Just thinking about doing so made him feel so vulnerable that he wanted to run away, or clam up entirely.

**Mickey:** _Because it sucked there lol_

**Mickey:** _Anyhow you got any new homemade movies for me? [winky face emoji]_

The deflection was not subtle, but thankfully Ian didn't push, and let it go.

**Ian:** _Looks like I've got a fan [laughing emoji] you even sent me a winky emoji. Must've really liked the first one, huh?_

Mickey rolled his eyes, but smiled, as Ian was obviously fishing for praise. He was transparent about that need, all the time.

**Mickey:** _Yeah #1 fan over here_

**Mickey:** _Of that dick_

Ian sent him a series of crying laughing face emojis with a heart and Mickey couldn't help feeling a bit warmer inside at the thought of making him excited like a giant puppy.

**Ian:** _Gimme a minute and I'll get you some new content_

 

 

*

Mickey was pleased and comfortable with this routine, now, after a few days straight. Meet in the lobby in the morning, accept coffee and flirt with Ian; text him all day at work; text him for a few hours at night, usually ending with some flirtations or better which had him masturbating to completion; rinse, repeat.

Thursday morning Mickey walked into the lobby to find a ripple in their routine. Ian was standing towards the right end of the lobby with empty hands.

Mickey approached, catching a bright smile from the tall man in the process.

“Morning,” beamed Ian.

“Mornin',” returned Mickey with a nod. He again looked over Ian's empty hands and wondered if the redhead had actually had some sort of rough start to the day.

“What, no coffee?” He teased before biting his lip and raising his brows.

Ian grinned as he explained, “I thought we could switch things up? Maybe we could stand in line together.”

Mickey smiled, immediately catching on to what was really happening. He shook his head and spoke, “It's like ya wanna spend extra time with me or somethin'.”

Ian chuckled. “Don't be ridiculous, Mick.”

He motioned for the coffee cart line and Mickey promptly lead the way to the back of it.

“So, how miserable was it on the bus today?”

Mickey rolled his eyes as he turned to look at the redhead. “Shut up,” he chuckled.

“Could've started your day off a little better, that's all I'm saying.”

“You don't know how to take 'no' for an answer, do ya?”

“Nah, if I thought you _really_ didn't want to then I'd give it up,” returned Ian with a shrug, “But, I'm pretty sure you secretly want the ride.”

Mickey's lips quirked a little higher on one side, even though Ian seemed momentarily oblivious by the root of his sudden flirtatious look. His brows danced up as he dragged his eyes down Ian, before murmuring, “You're not wrong about that. I love a good ride.”

There was nothing more rewarding then making Ian blush in the middle of the lobby of Woods Tech. He laughed and playfully shoved Mickey, who joined his laughter and devilishly poked his tongue out at him.

The barista called out a greeting to Ian and questioned, “The usual?”

He nodded, greeting them in return, and fished out a couple dollars to stuff in the tip jar. Then something very warm settled deep in Mickey as the barista set both of their coffees down and he realized he was part of Ian's morning usual.

As he turned towards Ian, with his coffee in hand and a sweetness to his gaze, he found the redhead looking at his phone. Ian pulled in a deep breath as he swyped a message on his phone.

“Everything alright?” asked Mickey.

“Yeah. Just John forwarded me his itinerary for Christmas,” murmured Ian. He glanced around and shifted closer, “Every time he leaves town he always sends me like every god damn detail, like it matters to me. I'm just excited to get a break from him.”

Mickey snorted, “That's the best gift ever, huh?”

“No shit,” chuckled Ian.

“So, uh, what does his family say about him going without you?”

“They hate me, so I think they're just happy to not see me.”

Mickey sent him an aghast look before questioning, “Hate you? How could anyone hate _you_?”

Ian's expression was twinkling, even as he quietly explained, “They found out where I'm from shortly after we got married, so they think I'm just a gold digger.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but Ian pressed on, “It's cool with me. I don't like them either. Not to mention, I kind of _am_ a gold digger. And hey, it let's me spend christmas with my actual family, so.”

“I bet he couldn't handle christmas with your family,” sniggered Mickey, “Has he ever even been to your family's house?”

“Once,” laughed Ian, “He hated everything about it.”

Mickey laughed, wishing he could see footage of John freakin' Woods in his old neighborhood.

“Well, hate to cut this short, but, uh I should head upstairs,” said Mickey, motioning to the large clock on the wall of the far end of the lobby.

“Talk to you later,” smiled Ian as he waved his phone.

Mickey grinned and walked away, still lost in amused thoughts of John in the Gallagher house. So much so that he texted Ian first this time, just as he settled into his desk.

**Mickey:** _You gotta give me details about John meeting your family lol_

**Ian:** _Well it was right after we got married. Like I said, Lip's the only one who knows the truth, so it was awkward with the other siblings. Carl scared the shit out of him I think haha And only addressed him as my "sugardaddy". Debbie was nice, but then gave me the third degree afterwards._

Mickey uncontrollably wondered what Carl and Debbie would've said if he had been the one Ian had brought to meet them.

**Ian:** _Frank annoyed the shit out of him hahaha He looked John over and gave me the thumbs up then talked John's ear off for like an hour. I let him, just for my own fun [crying laughing emoji]_

Mickey chuckled out loud as he thought of Frank ranting endlessly to John, who probably sat there confused and squirming the whole time.

**Mickey:** _lmao that makes me so happy_

“Oh hell no,” drawled a voice directly in his ear, causing Mickey to flip his phone over and slam it down on his desk.

He turned to find Damon directly behind his seat with his arms crossed. He leaned down and quietly spoke, “Are you really still texting _him_?”

“Mind your own fuckin' business,” returned Mickey defensively, “You don't know the whole story.”

“I know you're skating a thin line.”

“Yeah, I know,” grumbled Mickey, “It got complicated. We're being careful.”

“You better be. No way I'm working in this shitshow without you,” returned Damon with a stiff point to add to the words.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Don't get your panties in a bunch, _amigo_.”

Damon huffed and gave the whole room a once over before leaning back in.

“You really like him, huh?”

“This ain't a slumber party and you got no hair to braid, so fuck off with that gossipy shit.”

Damon simply laughed and clapped a hard hand onto Mickey's back.

“You do!” he sang.

Mickey raised a middle finger just in time for Ellison to walk by and give him a disapproving look. Mickey cleared his throat and called out an apology, before glaring at Damon, who retreated with his hands raised in surrender.

Since the weekend was approaching, Mickey decided to focus as much as possible on work, leaving Ian's last text unanswered. He planned to just text him back on his lunch break, but when his phone went off again a couple hours into his workday he peeked at it curiously.

Mickey's brow scrunched as he found a link to a pdf from Ian. He downloaded it, opening it as quickly as he could, and couldn't believe what he found. Test results.

The implications were there and strong, and had Mickey's heart racing excitedly. His phone buzzed again in his hand before Mickey had even finished reading it all.

 **Ian:** _You free tomorrow night? :)_

**Mickey:** _You are not subtle at all_

**Ian:** _Haha well why be subtle at this point?_

**Mickey:** _You know you haven't even asked for mine yet, right?_

**Ian:** _Oh. Right. Uhh hey Mick can you prove to me that you don't have any stds that I could get from swallowing your load pls and thx [winky face emoji]_

Mickey blushed, eyes going wide over those words. Talk about a lack of subtlety.

**Ian:** _Or should I be honest and tell you how I need proof so I can fuck you bareback?_

**Ian:** _I want to know exactly what you feel like inside when you take that ride on me..._

**Mickey:** _Jesus Ian_

**Mickey:** _You have no shame do you?_

**Ian:** _Mm maybe I'm just trying to put some thoughts in your head at work_

**Ian:** _Think it's your turn to be the one jerking off in a workplace bathroom_

Mickey laughed and sent him a row of middle finger emojis even as he shifted in his chair to hide more under the desk.

A long string of texts suddenly poured into his phone and Mickey froze as he read them one by one with eyebrows raised.

**Ian:** _Hahaha nah but I'm just kidding about the bareback text_

**Ian:** _Or maybe I'm not_

**Ian:** _Whatever you're comfortable with :)_

**Ian:** _I'm not anti-condom I swear_

**Ian:** _I know it's not just about protection or whatever_

**Ian:** _I mean not to assume that we're absolutely going to fuck! haha_

**Ian:** _Ah shit I was trying to tease you but now I feel like a presumptuous asshole_

**Ian:** _Anyhow so are you free tomorrow? Sex or no sex I just want to see you :)_

Mickey waited a long moment, to make sure no other texts would be popping up, before he replied.

**Mickey:** _You done with your lil nervous tirade?_

**Ian:** _...Yes :)_

**Mickey:** _Lol you're ridiculous, know that?_

**Ian:** _Sorry lol_

**Mickey:** _It's fine. Kinda cute actually_

**Ian:** _Yeah?? :)_

**Ian:** _So how about tomorrow? Any plans?_

**Mickey:** _I'm free. What ya got in mind? Besides cummin inside of me apparently lol_

**Ian:** _lmao I swear there's no obligations. Idc what we do. Whatever you feel like :)_

 

 

*

The rest of the night and all of the next morning Ian had texted with ideas of what to do. Ultimately, they decided that hanging out at Mickey's would be the best option. Ian suggested pizza and a movie, but Mickey knew they likely wouldn't make it five minutes into a movie before tackling each other. So, his plans for immediately after work were to rush home, wash his sheets, take extra care in a shower, fish out the paperwork from his last std screening, and clean up his messy apartment as much as he could in the time remaining.

He was shaking his foot anxiously under his desk nonstop while trying his hardest to focus on work like a good employee. But, his mind was consistently flooded with every picture and video Ian had sent him. And every single thought ended with the way Ian had looked when he came in the backseat of his car, staring into Mickey's eyes like he was about to float away. Mickey was so desperate to see that again, he wasn't sure he could wait any longer.

Naturally, the luck Mickey had always had reared it's ugly head right around three p.m. in the form of a text.

 **Ian:** _Ugh I'm so fucking pissed_

**Mickey:** _Whats wrong?_

**Ian:** _John just texted me and told me I have to go with him to some stupid business dinner tonight. Wtf?? Why did he wait until the last minute like an asshole??_

Mickey sighed, deflating in his seat. After all the build up from the last twenty-four hours and it ends like this? Perfect.

 **Mickey:** _Because he is an asshole that's why_

 **Mickey:** _It's alright man we'll try for next week_

 **Ian:** _I can still try to get away after the dinner maybe?? Say I gotta go talk to Lip about something or something idk_

 **Mickey:** _Nah. Don't want him getting suspicious_

 **Ian:** _I'm so god damn mad, Mick._

**Ian:** _I was really looking forward to hanging with you since yesterday :( :(_

**Mickey:** _Yeah me too_

He frowned and set his phone aside, readjusting his plans for the evening. He went from hanging out— _and inevitably having hot sex_ — with his favorite redhead, to likely drinking whiskey while bitterly eating a sandwich and going to bed as early as possible.

But, even those sad plans changed at the end of the work day when John unexpectedly approached his cubicle, greeting both Mickey and Damon.

“How are things?” he asked with a cordial smile.

Mickey and Damon comically stood up at the same cautious pace, which had them glancing at one another over the top of their divider.

“Fine, Sir,” spoke Damon.

“Good,” agreed Mickey with a nod of his head.

“That's great, happy to hear it,” returned John, “I don't want to keep you, so I'll get right to it. I have an invitation for tonight that I would encourage both of you to accept. Mr. Sanders invited me to dinner, and specifically requested a couple the programmers of his software join us. I thought you two would be the best to bring along.”

Mickey fought with all his might not to roll his eyes at that, while a string of sarcastic remarks rolled through his head. _Requested a couple of the programmers_ —yeah, Mickey was obviously on that list.

“So, what do you say?” questioned John, though he was staring directly at Mickey.

As if he could say no. As if he had a choice. Obviously their biggest client was using his sale to fulfill his one-sided desire.

“How could I refuse,” breathed Mickey, with a bit of an annoyed tone.

“May I bring my wife?” piped up Damon, pulling John's attention to him.

“Of course. The more the merrier,” smiled John, “I'll be bringing my husband.”

Mickey and Damon exchanged glances once more at that.

“I'll e-mail you two the details once the reservation is confirmed. Milkovich, may I see you in my office for a minute?”

John walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving Mickey in a mix of confusion and worry. He watched his boss retreat into his office and quickly turned to look at Damon with large eyes.

“What the fuck?” whispered Mickey urgently, “Why?”

“I dunno, man, but you better get in there.”

“Fuck.” Mickey ran a hand over his face and hysterically murmured, “There's no way he knows, right? He couldn't.”

“What, about the _texting_? Chill. That might be inappropriate, but it's not like you two have really done anything, right?”

Mickey winced guiltily and Damon's mouth fell open.

“Mickey, what else did you do?”

“Love how I wasn't invited,” spoke Amy bitterly, interrupting the whispered conversation that Mickey certainly didn't want to have, anyways. She turned her attention to Damon as she added, “Do your wife a favor and leave her at home. Sounds like it's just going to be a boring sausage fest.”

He chuckled and agreed with her, but also gave Mickey a shove and nodded his head towards John's office. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mickey tried to relax himself on his journey to his boss's office, but his body went in the opposite direction. He was fully in defense-mode, ready for a fight, when he opened the door.

Strangely, John sized Mickey up as he softly shut the door behind him and made his way to one of the stiff leather seats in front of his desk. He immediately shifted in the chair, sitting up straight and attempting to find some sort of comfort. It was to no avail.

“Is everything okay, Sir?”

John smiled at him and again his eyes roamed Mickey, who tried very hard not to squirm or snap.

“I never would have guessed you bat for my team, Milkovich.”

“Excuse me?”

John huffed a laugh. “Don't be coy. This isn't the rough streets of the _ghetto_. You're gay.”

Mickey's eyes shifted back and forth a few times as he tried to unlock a reason for why the fuck that would matter.

“Uh, yeah, I am. So what?”

John leaned back in his high-back swiveling chair and grew a full on grin.

“Albert took quite a liking to you at our party, apparently.”

Mickey both deflated and grew tense. Not this again. He had obviously been right about his lack of choice out there.

“He personally requested that _you_ attend tonight's dinner.”

“I already told him I'm not interested,” replied Mickey shortly.

“He mentioned that,” chuckled John, “I think that only made him want you more. You do realize that he owns one of the largest companies in this country, right? He's worth ten-times the amount I'll ever _hope_ to be.”

Mickey pressed his lips together and prepared himself for an uncomfortable dance he knew he'd have to use to navigate this complicated situation.

“Not really into screwing guys for money,” mumbled Mickey, “I think I also made that pretty clear to him.”

“Your loss,” scoffed John, and actually _rolled his eyes_.

Mickey's mind flooded with Ian suddenly and he hoped the unstoppable anger he felt wasn't visible in his expression. He crossed his arms and sat back a bit more, trying his hardest to think of anything other than Ian. Fucking John. For Money. _Fuck._

“Anyhow,” continued John with fading amusement, as if he had in fact picked up on the shift in Mickey's demeanor. “We want to keep Albert happy, alright? I don't need to tell you how big this job is for the company. We haven't made this much on a solo project in two years.”

“What are you asking me to do, Sir?” asked Mickey point blank.

“Just keep Albert happy tonight. Do whatever the hell you did at the party to make him so interested in you.”

Mickey let out a humorless laugh. “So, basically just tell him to fuck off again and again?”

John quickly sat up, leaning on the desk, and looked to Mickey like he was a lunatic. Mickey's heart dropped.

“I'm sorry, you did what?”

“I didn't know who he was at the time,” defended Mickey quickly, “When some old guy approaches you in the bathroom, asking for a blowjob, what else are you supposed to do?”

A silent moment passed as John stared at him, processing this new information, and Mickey braced himself to be screamed at.

He was entirely shocked when John laughed. And laughed some more. Mickey squirmed uncomfortably as he watched his boss press a hand to his eyes, laughing in a way that was either genuinely amused or hysterical.

“You're something else, kid,” concluded John as his laughs trailed off, “We're so lucky that Albert gets off on that kind of thing.”

“No kidding,” huffed Mickey, “I would've been fired already if not.”

“That goes without saying,” said John with one more laugh. “Well, look, try to keep the _fuck offs_ to a minimum tonight, alright? He might get tired of that and we don't need him swinging into resentment and firing us. Just let the old man enjoy himself. Keep your eyes on the big bonus you'll get when the software's completed.”

Mickey uncrossed his arms and leaned forward with a quirked brow. He did not sign up for this shit. And he'd rather crumble under his debt than be used and abused.

“I just want to clarify, are you sure you're not asking me to bang Albert in exchange for money? Because, I don't recall hearing anything about a bonus until now.”

“Well, I was planning on making that a surprise, should you all finish early. Go ahead and keep that to yourself, alright?”

“But, it's incentive,” said Mickey immediately with a twitch of impatience.

“Your salaries aren't enough incentive?”

Mickey bit his tongue, and John continued on immediately, anyhow.

“Look, I'm not telling you that you have to fuck him. _H.R._ wouldn't like that very much. With the old guys like him, it's more about the flirting. Make him feel like he might have a chance and he'll be happy enough. Are you seeing anyone?”

Mickey immediately averted his gaze as an illogical fear shot through him. There was no way John would be able to tell who he was thinking about, but Ian was bright in his mind.

“Kind of,” answered Mickey with a shrug.

John let out a bemused laugh and returned, “Well, let him know that when he inevitably invites you back to his place. Unless you should feel so inclined to accept his offer. There's no shame in that. You know, you're not the first guy to ever use sex in the business world, right? Hell, you're not the first in this _company_.”

“Albert mentioned that. Probably why he thinks he can use my job to get in my pants. Like this is some sort of escort service.”

“Perhaps, yes. But, I don't think you of all people can judge others for what they've done.”

Those words actually stung. Mickey would always be some shameful delinquent kid in this guy's eyes. He'd never have his respect, no matter how good he was at his job. He would always be the dude with the less fortunate upbringing.

“I know enough about _your_ history, Milkovich. We do thorough background checks here.”

“Yet you didn't know I was gay?” returned Mickey with a rude snort to follow.

Mickey actually expected that to amuse his boss and yet John's gaze went cold.

“I'll see you tonight,” he said by way of sudden dismissal, “Try not to screw everything up.”

Mickey nodded a few times and stood, endlessly pleased to get the hell away from this conversation like every single other one he'd ever had with his boss. He'd only just grabbed the door handle when John added, “Oh, and wear something else. The best suit you have in your closet—Or, go buy one.”

Mickey decided it was better to say nothing at all and left the office before he could bite his boss's head off.

 


	9. I'll Make the Most of It, I'm an Extraordinary Machine

 

“Best suit you have,” murmured Mickey, in a mocking voice, to himself as he finished tying his tie in front of the mirror. He begrudgingly put on his most expensive suit, but the whole time had thought of his boss's condescending words. He considered showing up in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt, just to piss John off. Albert would probably explode in his pants, considering what got his juices fucking flowing.

His phone buzzed from where it sat on his nightstand and he moved over to check it, figuring it would be Damon with an update on his ETA. But, instead he found something much different.

 **Ian:** _I heard I get to see you tonight :) This is a nice surprise_

 **Mickey:** _Don't get too excited. This nights gonna suck ass_

 **Ian:** _Why?_

 **Mickey:** _Uhh let's see... 1. John's going to be there. 2. I'm apparently his whore and he's turning me out to Albert fucking Sanders._

 **Ian:** _Wtf?? What did he tell you to do with Albert?_

**Mickey:** _“keep him happy”_

**Ian:** _What the fuck does that mean? You're not going to sleep with him are you?_

 **Mickey:** _Fuck no! I'm not some bitch that can be bought_

Mickey regretted sending that text the moment he had. It felt worse when he didn't immediately receive a reply from Ian, which was always telling, considering the guy typed a hundred miles a minute when they texted usually.

 **Mickey:** _Sorry I didn't mean to sound like a judgy dick or anything_

 **Ian:** _It's fine. I know you didn't._

Mickey frowned. This night was getting off to a wonderful god damn start.

 **Mickey:** _I just mean I'm not in a desperate enough situation to have to do that. Eight years ago I prolly would've tbh._

 **Ian:** _It's fine Mick. I'm still excited to see you lol_

Mickey sighed and ran a hand down his face.

 **Ian:** _We're supposed to be heading to the restaurant soon but satan's taking forever getting ready_

Mickey let out a laugh.

 **Mickey:** _Make sure to tell him to put on his best suit or go buy a new one_

**Ian:** _?_

**Mickey:** _That's what he said to me. Like I looked like trash in the one I was wearing earlier or something_

 **Ian:** _He's an idiot_

 **Ian:** _You looked hot. I mean you usually do anyhow but :)_

Mickey smiled.

 **Mickey:** _You tryna score points?_

 **Ian:** _Nah just stating facts. I love that tie you were wearing earlier. Makes your eyes pop._

Mickey glanced over to the discarded deep blue tie on the edge of the bed and before he knew it, he was pulling off the one around his neck to put the other back on. He checked the mirror to make sure it paired well enough with his grey suit and had little to no complaints.

His phone buzzed again before he finished straightening it.

 **Ian:** _k we're leaving. See ya soon!_

Mickey was still unsure if he was glad or not that Ian was going to be there. He was happy he'd at least get to see him, but John would probably be hanging all over him. And he'd have to fight all his natural instincts to prevent himself from looking at Ian too long, or smiling every time he did.

His phone went off again, but this time it was Damon.

**Damon:** _Down the road_

Mickey gave himself one last look-over in the mirror and slipped his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket. He stopped in his bathroom to apply cologne, then shut off all the lights on his way to the front door. He paused in front of his coat hooks, looking between his warm, puffy coat, and the thin, but sleek black jacket. Sighing, he applied the more appealing, less protective, coat and scooped up his cigarettes to tuck into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then dropped his keys into one of the coat pockets.

The second he stepped outside he regretted wearing anything other than his puffy parka. This coat did nothing when it came to the cold winds of Chicago. He speed walked like a middle-aged mother in a walmart as he made his way to Damon and Val's car.

Val let out an excited sound as he dropped into the backseat, and sang, “You look great, Mickey!”

Mickey chuckled and replied, “Job requirement.”

“What's this mean?” she asked, turning around in the passenger seat to look at him.

He went on to explain everything to her while they began their drive, and her excitement dimmed. She was downright glaring as she rattled off pretty, fiery swears in her native tongue.

“I do not like that man,” spat Val, “John Woods.”

“No one does,” chimed Damon, and Mickey laughed.

A quiet moment passed until Mickey noticed Val looking back at him again, this time with a sly smile. He raised a brow at her and she grinned.

“Damon told me all about your boyfriend.”

“Damon, the fuck, man?” whined Mickey.

“You'll understand when you're married one day,” defended Damon.

“He'll be there, right?” questioned Val.

“Yeah, he'll be there with his _husband_ , so try to keep our thing out of your mind, alright?”

“I won't tell,” promised Val with a shake of her head, “I just want to see him. Damon called him a looker.”

Mickey snorted before replying, “Yeah, he's alright.”

Damon barked a laugh.

Before long they were pulling up to the valet outside of the designated restaurant and stepping out into the chilly air.

“Fancy,” murmured Val as she stepped up close to Mickey and they both peered into the old restored building to the fine dining settings inside.

“I hate the lighting in places like this,” complained Mickey quietly to her, “It's too dim, hurts my eyes.”

“Awe, you'll be okay,” said Val with a kiss to his temple.

“Ah, Mickey, lovely to see you.”

Mickey quickly pulled in a breath as he turned to see Albert getting out of his car with a beaming smile. Mickey slapped on the first of many fraudulent smiles and returned, “Hey, how's it going?”

Albert looked extra pleased at that and approached quickly. “Who are these lovely people?”

“Damon, he's another programmer, and his wife Val,” introduced Mickey.

Albert shook hands with both of them, before suggesting they head in, out of the cold. They only made it inside of the vestibule as a group of people ahead of them was talking to the hostess. This left Albert close enough to lean into Mickey and murmur, “I was hoping you'd be one of the programmers here tonight.”

Mickey turned with a disbelieving expression for Albert. He quirked a brow and returned, “Don't act like you didn't orchestrate this whole thing just to see me again.”

Albert laughed, grinning brightly, and replied, “I think you've got something special. It gets old meeting the same people over and over, you know?”

“That I do,” sighed Mickey as they made their way inside to the hostess.

As someone took their coats for them, Mickey's eyes zipped around the restaurant in search of the homing beacon of redhair that his body begged for. It wasn't until a moment later when the hostess lead them towards the back of the restaurant that he spotted him, sitting beside his husband. They were seated at a table large enough for eight and Mickey worried that even more people were supposed to show up. John spotted them first and promptly stood, reaching a hand out to Albert, who shook it with a cordial smile.

Ian stood up behind him, but had his eyes on Mickey alone. A rush of excitement zipped through Mickey as his green eyes scanned him with appreciation. An elbow to his side had Mickey looking at Val, who was grinning. He nudged her back with a scowl, just as John greeted the other three and motioned for them all to sit.

Mickey followed Damon and Val to the other side of the table, and strangely so did Albert. As the couple sat first and Albert sat on the other side of Mickey, he was left with the seat directly across from Ian. His worry grew that he wouldn't be able to resist looking at the redhead.

“This is a lovely restaurant,” said Val, breaking the quiet moment, “Thank you for letting me come.”

“Of course, we're happy you could join,” returned John, “It's better to dine with pairs, anyhow.”

Mickey avoided his boss's gaze that he felt on him. Pairs. Yeah, Mickey understood exactly why John wanted that. Mickey picked up the menu in front of him to distract himself and continue to avoid John's eyes, which he could still see were on him in his peripherals.

“That's a nice suit, Milkovich.”

Mickey glanced up at John, and the saccharin smile on his face. His lips twitched to the side as he bit back what he really wanted to say.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“It's refreshing to see you in something other than black.”

“With his dark features, he can pull off both,” chimed Albert in Mickey's defense. “Lucky kid.”

“I didn't realize there was a criteria to dressing in a suit,” said Mickey, and Albert chuckled.

“You'll figure it out. I've got about forty-years experience of choices.”

“I'll bet you don't even choose, anymore. You've probably got someone that dresses you.”

Albert laughed again. “You're not wrong.”

“I can't even imagine that,” snorted Mickey.

The waitress appeared to take their drink orders and Mickey's mouth went dry at the thought of liquor to calm his buzzing nerves. When both Damon and Val ordered wine, Mickey felt comfortable enough to order a glass of whiskey.

As John never could keep his mouth shut for long, he questioned Albert about how things were going at his company. Mickey took that moment to lean over to Damon, directly beside him, and quietly question, “You know what you're gonna order?”

Damon gave him a look and leaned in even closer to say, “Man, even the salad here is expensive.”

Mickey grimaced and returned his eyes to his menu. He didn't even recognize half of the words on it, but he certainly knew what a steak was, so he figured that was a safe bet. If he had to overpay for it, it was worth not sounding like an ignorant fool in front of his boss.

Mickey uncontrollably glanced up at Ian, who was looking at him already. Ian grew a smile on his face as he looked down at the table. Mickey fought away his as he set his menu down and turned to pretend to be interested in what Albert was rattling off to John about some sort of international deal he just closed. He seemed to catch Albert's eye, which prompted the old man to turn towards him more once he'd finished with his story.

“It's really lovely there, you know,” said Albert, momentarily confusing Mickey as he hadn't really been paying attention, “Have you ever been to Beijing?”

Mickey let out a laugh and motioned to himself with a disbelieving look that had Albert's eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Man, I've never even left Chicago,” returned Mickey.

“You should travel when you do get a chance.”

The waitress returned with all their drinks and Mickey let out a breath of relief when his fingers wrapped around his glass. He took a large unapologetic drink as the waitress requested their dinner orders. Once they'd each finished and handed over their menus Mickey went back in for another large gulp of his whiskey.

“I've never left Chicago either,” said Ian unexpectedly, and Mickey's body nearly jolted at the sound of his voice. The brief, appropriate, eye contact they made had him genuinely smiling and his limbs tingling.

“John, how could you not take your husband out to see the world?” chastised Albert, “Any young man would love it.”

John smiled and wrapped his arm around the back of Ian's chair as he replied, “Oh, I have plans to. I'm thinking Rome, first.”

Mickey watched closely as Ian forced a very convincing smile for his husband.

“That sounds nice,” spoke Ian, “Although, I've always been more interested in Venice.”

“Take him on a tour of Italy,” suggested Albert.

“Perhaps I will,” nodded John, before tilting his head at Ian and smiling more warmly.

Now knowing the truth of the situation, Mickey truly wondered how John was always able to look like he was genuinely in love with Ian. Maybe he was, or he was just a very good liar. He turned his gaze away as he couldn't stand to consider it any longer.

“We're trying to get Mickey to join us on our next trip to visit Val's family,” chimed Damon, “We usually stay in Puebla for a few days.”

“Ah, now that's a lovely city,” beamed Albert, “You have family there?”

“My tía,” smiled Val, “But most family live outside the city.”

“You guys know I'm not going to turn down a trip that promises sun and tequila,” stated Mickey, “You name the dates and I'll get my passport.”

Val reached over to give his arm an affectionate squeeze. “As soon as you two finish with Albert's project.”

“Hopefully that'll be sooner than our estimated date,” said John, easily sullying the moment with what Mickey and Damon recognized as the usual borderline threat. “Perhaps you two can give Albert an updated projection?”

Mickey turned his attention to his boss, but found his eyes bouncing over to Ian, who was holding his glass of white wine and running a finger around the rim. Mickey's brain stuttered as he remembered Ian doing the same thing to his glass of beer at the Alibi. As he swiftly cycled through several memories from that night he forced his body to turn enough that he could look at Albert, hoping that would focus his mind.

“Uh, as of now, we're right on track,” said Mickey simply.

“I consider that impressive, given all the changes I've requested as of late,” returned Albert, “I do apologize to both of you for that, by the way. There were a few reviews that had us changing the interface to avoid anymore disappointment.”

“That wasn't a problem at all,” said John immediately, as if he had anything to do with it, “Isn't that right?”

Damon and Mickey nodded right away and Mickey heard the quiet huff of laughter Albert let out. Mickey turned again to give him a smile and spoke, “Honestly, though, the interface wasn't too tedious to change. It's the elaborate _functioning_ that's had my eyes bleeding every damn day. Feel like I'm designing a program version of Russian nesting dolls.”

Albert laughed, as did Damon, while Mickey noticed John giving him a serious look. Mickey bit onto his bottom lip as he swiftly looked away.

“I understand, the options are a plenty and yes elaborate, but the software is for our paying customers, so we only want the best.”

“Understandable,” nodded Mickey, “And anyways, it's my job, so I can't really complain.”

Albert spat out a breath and shook his head, “We all complain about our jobs, Mickey. Even me.”

“What, do you get tired of signing things?” teased Mickey.

Albert grinned, locking his eyes on Mickey's, “Sometimes, yes.”

Mickey chuckled and reached for his drink once more. Unexpectedly, he felt something knock against his shoe. He raised his eyes to Ian, who had a subtle smirk to his face and a brow raised while he slowly tilted his wine glass back to take a drink. Mickey tried to look away, as Albert spoke.

“Well, you all have been very accommodating. It is difficult to please all of our users, but we try to go the extra mile to keep them happy. We'll never quite be as large as other search engines, considering we started out as a second-class browser choice.”

The tip of Ian's shoe suddenly rose up Mickey's ankle and slipped inside his pant leg to touch the bit of skin above his sock. He swallowed roughly.

“Yes, but you actually offer so much more than just your search engine. You've branched into many fields—impressively, I'll add,” spoke John, “This software you've ordered will only launch you further.”

As Albert agreed, going on to speak something about their original consideration to team up with another company that already offered the software, Mickey missed nearly every important detail. He was too distracted by the pattern that Ian's foot was drawing on his skin, and the fact that it was happening right under John's nose. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand as Ian's foot went up higher.

“Milkovich?”

Mickey's eyes snapped to John and the look he wore that said he had made a mistake somewhere. A quiet moment passed until Mickey hesitantly spoke, “I'm sorry..?”

Albert laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a bit, “Did you miss that?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry. What's going on?”

“Did you fall asleep?” bit out John with a strange tone and even stranger smile.

“I think I'm just a little too hungry,” lied Mickey, “Whatever that is that smells good is making it worse.”

Albert laughed and slipped his hand away, “That's quite alright. I need to use the restroom, anyways. Would you care to join?”

“Nah, I'm good,” replied Mickey instinctively, but when he saw irritation flicker in his boss's eyes he realized he'd made another mistake.

“Well, I need to wash my hands before food arrives, so I'll join you,” offered John as he stood.

“Wonderful,” chirped Albert, before they both departed.

Mickey watched them go and the second they were out of sight he glared at Ian, who chuckled in response to the look. “Will you stop that?” grumbled Mickey quietly, leaning across the table a bit.

Ian looked over to Damon and Val with a hint of worry and Mickey waved his hand in dismissal.

“They both know,” said Mickey quietly.

Val let out a giggle suddenly and leaned over Damon to question, “What was he doing?”

“Playing footsie with me like a fuckin' horny teen.”

Damon and Val both laughed while Ian gave them an unrestrained grin that Mickey found annoyingly perfect. He reached for his drink again to hide in while he smiled, as well.

“You really are a looker,” offered Val suddenly, and Ian looked to Mickey with surprise.

“Damon said so,” explained Mickey, hooking a thumb towards Damon.

“Thanks,” beamed Ian.

“You should come by with Mickey sometime,” suggested Val, “I'd love to get to know you.”

“I'd love that, thank you,” agreed Ian, radiating even more sunlight in his expression.

“Can we please be a little bit more discreet about this?” questioned Mickey with a concerned hand covering his eyes. Everyone quieted down.

“So, Ian, you're in school, right?” asked Damon, switching to a good neutral topic.

“Yeah, I'm working on my bachelor's in social work.”

“That's wonderful!” praised Val with surprise, “Which school?”

“Well, I'm working through an online program, because I can speed the process up that way. But, I do want to get my masters, too, afterwards, and that I'd like to do in a classroom. I'm hoping to save up enough money to help me get through it more easily.”

Another quiet moment set in, and Ian's expression slowly altered as he seemed to catch on to the implications of his own words. He glanced back towards the bathrooms while Mickey looked to the other two. Damon was smiling at him.

“Well, that's very admirable work,” he offered to Ian. “And it's good that you have a whole plan. How much longer until you get your bachelors?”

“I've got at least another year, unfortunately,” grimaced Ian.

“That's not too bad,” chimed Val, “What job do you want?”

“Well,” breathed Ian, “Initially I had started all this to get into CPS, but depending on how far I can go with my education, I might eventually try for LCSW.”

“What's that?” asked Mickey, unable to bite back his growing curiosity.

Ian smiled a bit as his eyes locked onto Mickey. But, behind him Mickey saw the other two men returning.

“They're coming back,” murmured Mickey.

Ian didn't even glance back at them as he continued, “Licensed clinical social worker. So, I can maybe work with kids with mental health problems.”

“Definitely admirable,” affirmed Damon, as the other two men returned to their seats with curious expressions.

“What are we talking about?” questioned John.

“Ian was just tell us what he's studying in school,” answered Damon.

“Oh, wonderful,” chirped Albert, “I didn't know you were in school.”

“He wants to be a social worker,” sighed John, gaining everyone's attention with a following pause at the table.

“And you don't agree with that path?” questioned Albert slowly.

“It's not very lucrative.”

Mickey looked down to the table to resist rolling his eyes at his boss, until Albert barked a laugh that had him quickly looking to the old man instead.

“What does that matter?” asked Albert, “You make enough money for both of you to live comfortably for the rest of your days. At least he's taking advantage of that to do something good in this world.”

Holy shit, Mickey couldn't agree more with him. He was sure the others did, too, but everyone remained quiet.

“I should have said that I think his talents would be better used elsewhere,” returned John with a tight smile.

“Ah,” nodded Albert, casting a glance at Ian, “Well, either way, I do commend you. I was in the system when I was a boy, and back then it was full of apathetic, judgmental, impatient social workers.”

Mickey raised his brows as he questioned, “ _You_ were in the system?”

“That's right. Mother died, father was a forgetful drunk that burned down our house.”

“And look at you now,” chimed Damon, “It's amazing how far you've come.”

“Thank you, but you know, it was mostly luck,” smiled Albert.

As Albert went on to explain how he met the man that he'd started his company with, food arrived. Mickey focused his attention on his rare steak, but made sure to hum and nod to Albert that he was listening to his life story, even if he cared more about the food.

Most at the table were also finished eating when Mickey sat back with a full tummy and his whiskey back in his hand. He quietly groaned, which yanked Albert's attention back to him with twinkling amusement in his eyes.

“It's kind of impressive how quickly you inhaled that steak.”

Mickey snorted, “Not really. I was going to ask for a scale when they brought it out. Didn't look like sixteen ounces to me.”

Albert leaned a little closer and quietly spoke, “Would you like me to get you more?”

Mickey gave an amused look and leaned in and spoke so only Albert could hear.

“I thought I already made it clear that you can't pay to watch me play with meat.”

Albert's face was flushed as he leaned back in his seat with a grin. Mickey laughed at him before finishing off the last of his whiskey. He set the glass on the table and found John giving him a pleased smile, which made his skin crawl, so he quickly looked away, only to find Ian looking the opposite. Mickey bit onto his bottom lip to keep from frowning, and lifted his foot until it collided with Ian's.

The redhead quickly glanced up with clearing eyes which Mickey rewarded with a slow movement of his foot up the inside of Ian's leg, to his knee. Mickey's foot quickly fell away, though, when Albert cleared his throat and asked, “So, how long have you worked at Woods Tech, Mickey?”

“A few months.”

“That's it?” questioned Albert with surprise, “What brought you to Woods Tech?”

Mickey quickly swallowed down his usual response— _money_ —as his boss was clearly listening closely.

“Actually, the job became available because of your software,” offered Mickey, instead, clearly grabbing Albert's interest that much more, “They needed another programmer for the job. And it's a serious upgrade from my last job.”

“And what was that?”

“Web developer. For a much smaller company. My old boss was actually the one who let me know when a spot became available at Woods Tech., since it was by word-of-mouth only.”

“That's lovely. He must of thought highly of you,” smiled Albert, and Mickey actually returned the smile genuinely.

“Yeah, he's a pretty cool guy.”

“It worked out for us, too,” chimed Damon suddenly, “Mickey's really good at seeing the whole picture, ya know? Like he always knows everything that's going on with every inch of the project. Our supervisor was home sick last week and Mickey basically took over his responsibilities.”

Mickey scoffed as he looked to Damon with suspicion.

“What you buttering me up for?” he said, “Even if I'm just working on one part of the software, I like to know how the rest is developing, that's all.”

“You've jumped in on Amy's code before,” pointed Damon, “And you know she doesn't like people touching her code.”

Mickey snorted. “That's because mine is an art form that anyone would be lucky to share.”

“Pequeña mierda engreída,” returned Damon with a laugh, prompting his wife to backhand his arm, which made Mickey laugh.

“Pero muy encantador,” chimed Albert, garnering all eyes.

“I regret skipping my spanish lessons, now,” breathed John, and Mickey realized for just a moment he had forgotten his boss's existence.

Albert chuckled, “You're not missing anything surprising. Mickey's a cocky but charming little bundle of talent, that's all.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at the praise, and tried to think of a way to direct the topics away from himself.

“So, did you come up with the idea for your website, or was it you friend?” asked Mickey, returning his attention to Albert.

“I got in on the ground floor, thankfully, but it was all Richard who came up with the idea.”

“Worked out for you, huh?”

“It really did. He passed away a few years ago, so I took over as the sole owner, but I miss his creative brain. He had the best ideas. He could really see what the world should be, instead of what it is.”

Mickey nodded in understanding.

“I've got it easy, these days, though. It's not the most hands on job, anymore, given we've taken off in so many directions, I have too many teams to handle each aspect to know it all.”

“Yeah, that's a thing I don't understand,” admitted Mickey, turning more towards Albert, “Why are you handling this overview personally? Shouldn't you have a whole team of people below you that handle the communication between you and a software development firm?”

Mickey nearly choked on the last word as Ian's foot abruptly reacquainted with his ankle in a silky movement. As Ian's ankle played his like a violin, he realized there was an extra benefit, because he was smiling genuinely as he looked at Albert, even though the look had nothing to do with their current conversation.

“I do,” nodded Albert and his voice fell just a bit, “It just so happened that when I attended a party as the face of my company, I found something that made me want to make this a little more personal, though.”

Oh.

Mickey rolled his eyes with a forced playful smile and replied, “You're relentless.”

“Tenacious,” corrected Albert with a laugh, “Bet you've never met a man as ambitious as me.”

“I beg to differ,” replied Mickey as his eyes zipped over to Ian. He smiled at Mickey, but quickly looked down, while his ankle very slowly slid against his in a fluid motion.

“Alright, how about we leave the business talk alone for the rest of the evening?” suggested John with a fun-filled smile that had Mickey's stomach sinking. “Let's order another round of drinks and enjoy ourselves.”

“Sounds good to me,” chimed Albert, clapping his hands together to rub them.

“If it's alright, Sir, we're going to get going,” announced Damon, causing Mickey to quickly look to him with betrayal. He seemed to be avoiding Mickey's gaze. “We've gotta get up early to go to the in-laws.”

“Ah, that's not a problem. Thank you for joining us,” returned John breezily, “And don't worry about the check, I'll be paying.”

Once saying their thanks to John, Val and Damon both stood and gave their goodbyes, prompting echoes from the others while Mickey quietly stared hard at Damon. He was certainly aware of it, considering he leaned down and whispered into his ear, “Sorry, Mick, you're gonna have to catch a cab. Her abuela almost killed me last time we were late.”

“Yeah, whatever, dickhead,” mumbled Mickey in return.

Damon gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder as he stood, and Val leaned down to give him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Be good, Mickey,” she said, “I'll see you in a couple weeks, yeah?”

Mickey nodded, “Absolutely.”

She beamed and then they were leaving. Mickey let out the quietest sigh possible as John waved down the waitress. At least Ian's foot was still sitting against his, and the night would have to come to an end at some point.

“Can we get your oldest bottle of scotch?” requested John as the waitress reappeared.

Mickey nearly rolled his eyes at the pretentious tone, and eager smile he sent to Albert.

“Sounds good to me,” nodded Albert, “Good choice, John.”

“Looks like I'm driving home tonight,” said Ian unexpectedly.

“Oh, come now, there's no reason you can't enjoy it, as well,” argued Albert, “That's what taxi's are for.”

“Ian's a real lightweight,” chuckled John, “It only takes a few beers to get him drunk. He might as well be a teenage girl.”

The polite smile Ian had been wearing suddenly fell away.

“Less money, more fun,” returned Ian with forced amusement, “Please excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

Ian stood and left, keeping his gaze to himself, but Mickey watched him travel and there was extra tension in his back that concerned him.

“He's a bit sensitive,” said John with a roll of his eyes, “He doesn't like to talk about it, but he's on a few medications.”

“It's nothing serious, is it?” questioned Albert.

Mickey tried not to look as interested as he painfully was. He resisted the urge to lean across the table, closer to John, in his wait for the answer.

“It's not terminal, or anything,” dismissed John with a huff, “He's just like any other rich wife, choking down all the happy pills he can get.”

Albert let out a strained laugh while Mickey felt anger abruptly race through him. The fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Might as well be on a reality show,” chuckled John, just as the waitress returned with a tray that held four glasses and a bottle of scotch. “Ah, thank you.”

While John poured the scotch for them Mickey found his leg bouncing as he resisted the urge to get away and go to the restroom, too. It would certainly feel better than fighting down the defensive words he badly ached to spit at John.

His mind was spinning with the words John had rudely just spoken of Ian, and Ian's own brief words about a hereditary disorder. He wasn't educated in those well enough to figure what it could be, but he felt like he was putting pieces together. Ian's desire to work with mentally ill children also popped into the whirlwind and he considered asking him about it on Monday.

“Milkovich?”

Mickey quickly looked up to the glass that was being held out by his boss, and mumbled a painful apology as he accepted it. John held his own out after and Albert promptly clinked his against it, so Mickey did with his, as well. Before inhaling the liquid like a shot.

As he set the glass down he found the other two men eyeing him with surprise. Albert unexpectedly let out a laugh and proceeded to inhale his, as well. John followed suit, even though he didn't look as happy to do so.

“Give us a few fingers of it this time,” suggested Albert as he held out his glass for more.

Mickey actually smiled at that and held his out, too. John poured more in both, a bit sloppily, and Mickey took care to sip his this time. Albert swirled his in his glass before doing so, and Mickey watched with amusement.

Ian returned to the table then with an apologetic smile. Mickey planned a way to give him a sneaky look of understanding, but John leaned over to him, which instantly sullied his need. He watched Ian, who frowned and looked down, while John murmured into his ear.

“So, Mickey,” started Albert, as if wanting to start a conversation away from the intimacy of the other two. Mickey turned towards him a bit, with only one more glance towards Ian. “Hmm, Mickey. Is that short for Michael?”

“Mikhailo,” corrected Mickey, and he watched Albert's brows rise in surprise.

“That right? Is that Russian?”

“Ukrainian.”

“Interesting,” nodded Albert, “That explains the last name.”

“I guess,” huffed Mickey before returning to his scotch.

He spared another glance to Ian and felt electrified to find his green eyes already on him. Even as John pressed a kiss to Ian's cheek, before finally retreating back to his own space.

“My wife is French,” offered Albert, as if a little desperate to find some kind of long conversation for them to share. “Very French.”

He laughed to himself while Mickey found himself looking to the old man with confusion.

“You're married?” questioned Mickey in disbelief.

“Thirty-eight years next May,” smiled Albert, “She's the light of my life.”

Mickey quirked a brow and gave him a look, which had Albert chuckling. He clearly understood exactly why Mickey was looking at him like that.

“She doesn't mind that I have fun on the side. She has her own.”

“Hey, whatever works for you guys,” shrugged Mickey.

“You'll understand one day when you're married.”

Mickey hummed in consideration, then shook his head, “Nah. I'll only settle for a guy that meets _all_ my needs.”

He spared a glance to Ian, whose eyes seemed to be glued to him and sparkling with interest.

“Haven't found this perfect machine-of-a-man yet?” inquired Albert with amusement.

Mickey opened his mouth, but wasn't even sure what to say. It didn't matter, anyways, when John spoke the most unexpected thing.

“You came close once before, right? When you were engaged?”

Mickey's blood froze as he turned his attention to his boss. There was no way that he knew that. _No one_ knew that.

“Excuse me?” Mickey choked out, his expression falling.

“I mean, you were engaged before, after all. Around when you were twenty/twenty-one?”

He watched Ian's head snap to his direction and felt genuinely ill by this turn in conversation. Mickey's mouth went dry as he stared at his boss for a passing moment, which was likely uncomfortable for everyone else at the table, but he had entirely lost control of himself in this strange turn of events.

“How the hell do you know that?” asked Mickey quietly.

John smiled wickedly and tilted his head like a damn challenge.

“As you pointed out earlier, my background checks might not be as thorough as I thought. Decided to dig a little deeper. In one of the reports I read it mentioned a fiance..?”

The sheer violation of this had Mickey fuming. He felt his jaw lock up and had to look away from John as he knew his eyes were nothing but flames. This guy, who judged Mickey every chance he got, apparently dug deep enough to get intimate details about him. He knew it had to be through arrest records that he was referring to, surely that was mentioned in the police report, but that meant he had to have gotten access to all of them. Even things that weren't available to the public.

Mickey burned with shame and anger, and knew he needed to step away before he did something he'd regret, so he stood, swallowing roughly.

“Um, excuse me for a minute,” murmured Mickey, “I'm going to step out for a smoke.”

Mickey practically ran away, all the way outside, and didn't even bother with collecting his coat first. He yanked his pack of cigarettes out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket as he took in a deep breath of fresh air and tried to calm his foggy brain.

He moved away from the front of the restaurant until he found a well-lit alley with a door that surely lead to the kitchen.

Mickey ran a hand across his face as leaned back against the redbrick wall. He had worked so hard to get away from his past, to erase it from his life. And John, of all god damn people, now knew details he had wanted to forget. He hadn't even had an ounce of sympathy when he brought it up; he had practically wiggled with excitement while rubbing it in Mickey's face.

“Fuckin' dickhead,” growled Mickey under his breath.

He didn't have a single clue how he was supposed to go back in there and be cordial now. His damn hands were shaking from anger. How could he hide that?

Mickey sucked down his nicotine while he tried to think of a non-suspicious way to exit when he returned. He could pretend to be sick, or get drunk enough that they would have to let him leave. But, being loud and slurring his words wouldn't exactly leave the greatest impression. He wasn't sure how to get away without pissing his boss off.

“Hey, you alright?” spoke the most unexpected voice.

His eyes shot up to Ian, who was cautiously making his way down the alley to Mickey's side. This felt familiar, he realized, as he bitterly thought back to that holiday party. This only served to make Mickey feel worse.

He scoffed, “The hell are you doin' out here, Ian?”

“I wanted to check on you,” shrugged Ian, before crossing his arms and coming to a stop in front of Mickey. He also hadn't bothered with a coat.

“And your husband was just fine with that?”

“They're gossiping about some other company in there, he didn't give a shit.”

Mickey turned his gaze away and worried his bottom lip aggressively. “Almost done anyways.”

Even though this was true and he had nearly smoked his cigarette down to the filter, he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to go back in there and face his boss without stabbing him with his used steak knife.

"You look really good, Mick."

Mickey simply grunted in reply, which only made Ian smile.

"You wore the tie I like."

Mickey nodded mindlessly, still trying to figure a way out. But, then Ian's next words grabbed his attention fully, shutting down any plans he was working on internally.

“So, apparently I'm not the only one who lies by omission, huh?”

Ian said it with a playful smile, and yet it didn't come close to reaching his eyes.

“I didn't omit anything significant,” defended Mickey.

“Only that you were engaged to be married before,” shot back Ian, his smile falling away now, “Sounds pretty significant.”

“It wasn't.”

“Who were you engaged to? Why didn't you ever mention it before?”

“Fuckin' John,” grumbled Mickey, “Like that shit is any of his damn business. That's gotta be against the rules somehow.”

Ian just waited for the answer to his question with a determined expression that had Mickey sighing. He pinched the filter of his cigarette and stuffed it in his pocket, before giving Ian a short shrug.

“Not my favorite topic, alright?”

“I'm sure it's not, but considering you told me that the most serious relationship you had was just three months of dating, I'm a little confused.”

Mickey rubbed irritably at his forehead and glanced around to make sure they still had privacy. “Look, it wasn't by choice, alright? The short version is that my dad tried to force me into marrying some whore and I bailed. For good, too, after I got out of the fuckin' hospital.”

The tension in Ian's expression slowly fell as his mind obviously worked to put together the pieces of Mickey's vague story. It only made Mickey eye him nervously. His focus went to his racing heart which made him feel panicked.

This increased as Ian went on staring at him with a sullen expression. Mickey couldn't handle facing that, especially now. He was filled with flight, so he just nodded his head a few times, absentmindedly, then licked his lips and said, “Should get back in there.”

He moved towards the front end of the building, but hardly made it more than a few steps before Ian grabbed his arm. He turned back around just in time to be unexpectedly crowded by him.

“Wait,” whispered Ian as his hands smoothly slid inside of Mickey's jacket onto his sides.

Mickey glanced down towards the end of the building nervously as Ian ushered him back against the wall.

“Ian, come on,” murmured Mickey, “'s risky. Gotta go back in.”

“Just wait,” insisted Ian softly, leaning in close enough to brush his forehead against his.

Mickey raised his eyes up to him and felt himself ache with longing at the sight of Ian's lips parted. Ian pulled in an audible breath and pressed Mickey tighter against the wall, melting their bodies together.

Their eyes met and obvious desire filled the space between them. It was thick and heavy, and pressed down tight on Mickey, making him feel dizzy with need. Ian's eyes spoke to him, beckoned him, and Mickey couldn't stop himself from reaching a hand up to touch him. His fingers slowly slid into the shortest part of Ian's hair and his thumb drew a circle on his temple. He watched with interest as Ian's eyes closed and his brow furrowed ever so slightly.

Their lips briefly met and Mickey gave into the moment with a shudder, closing his own eyes and tugging gently on Ian in indication to go further.

One of Ian's hands left his side to instead cup his face and suddenly his warm mouth was pressing into his. Mickey's fingers quickly curled into Ian's hair as a rush of very different feelings swarmed his chest. They held this kiss for a timeless moment, as if it was the only way they could stay alive, and Mickey let his hand slither all the way down to Ian's chest.

When their lips parted Ian set his forehead down on Mickey's and whispered sincerely, “I'm so sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey wasn't even sure what Ian was referring to, and hardly cared as their lips reacquainted with another sweet and warm kiss. They drifted through time once more and Ian's thumb stroked Mickey's cheek in a gentle way that Mickey had never experienced before. Those feelings dancing in his chest intensified more and more as Ian began to apply even more pressure against his lips. Until something unknowable, but shared, built to a head and they both broke apart to simultaneously go back in for a much deeper kiss. And everything was perfect. Absolutely, out of this world perfect.

They kissed again and the insides of their bottom lips met in a way that had Mickey's eyes nearly rolling to the top of his head. He kissed Ian with more hunger, focusing on sucking on that firm bottom lip of his. Ian's fingers spread and moved to the back of his neck, while Mickey found himself pulling Ian down tighter and tighter, until they both tilted their heads to meet like two matching puzzle pieces.

As their tongues met in a deep embrace one of them moaned; Mickey wasn't quite sure which one of them it was, maybe it was both of them. But, the sound was enough to shock him back into reality. He jerked away and looked back down the alley with wide eyes.

“Fuck, Ian, we gotta stop. We've been out here for fuckin' ever,” puffed Mickey, quickly moving further and further away from Ian's warmth, with uncoordinated steps, “I don't want them coming to look for us.”

Ian stood frozen for a moment, as if he had just been attacked, before he began to nod his head quickly in agreement. “Right, you're right, sorry.”

Mickey tried to calm his breath as he watched Ian move to go back inside, but somehow it only became harder and harder to breathe. Ian looked to him and as usual with the redhead Mickey felt like an addict, chasing the high of his favorite drug.

“Fuck,” he whispered before quickly moving to collide with Ian again.

They kissed with equally wide and needy mouths and Ian moaned smoothly into him. Mickey felt every ounce of horribleness dissipate from inside of him as they kissed passionately with inclined heads and slow matching strokes of their tongues. Ian wrapped both of his hands around Mickey's lower back and pulled him in tightly, once more.

The feelings were so strong and loud inside of Mickey they almost felt violent. He wanted to scratch him, bite him, grip him with all of his strength. His body ground roughly up into Ian's, desperate to use those feelings in someway and Ian's hard body met his with a matching movement that had Mickey sighing loudly through his nose.

The sounds of a car pulling up and the valet calling out greeting made them both break away with fear. Mickey took a quick step back and licked his swollen lips as Ian watched him with dark, hooded eyes, breathing like he had just come up from the bottom of a deep pool.

Mickey ran a hand through his hair and made himself start walking back to the restaurant, too afraid to look at Ian again. He would certainly end up reaching for him again. He couldn't control himself.

When he pulled open the door to the restaurant he found Ian directly behind him, but still refused to look at him. He really was a pathetic addict, now.

They were both silent as they returned to the table, to the point of garnering strange looks from the other two.

"Everything okay?" inquired Albert.

"I didn't mean to bring up such a sore topic, Milkovich," chimed John.

Mickey plastered a smile on his face, his mind still in a daze, and fumbled, “Uhh, right, no it's cool. Sorry about, um, that. Going outside, I mean. Smoking's a bad habit. What were you guys talking about?”

Albert chuckled and spoke, “Well, you missed a very interesting story about one of your I.T. workers.”

“Not to mention how apparently the CEO of Atworth Inc. checked himself into rehab for an addiction that had him roaming your old neighborhood,” chimed John.

“That right,” murmured Mickey, but he couldn't think. Not of anything, but the taste of Ian on his tongue. He swallowed roughly and reached for his scotch with a hidden glance towards Ian. He seemed to be in a daze, too, as he stared endlessly at the center of the table.

“ _Your_ old neighborhood?” questioned Albert, “Where are you from?”

“Canaryville,” answered Ian unexpectedly, causing Mickey's heart to drop.

A silent moment passed and Mickey nervously watched John look to Ian with a wildly irritated expression that was barely muted. Ian glanced at him before continuing to Albert, “Uh, same as me.”

“I thought you were from Lakeshore?” returned Albert with a furrowed brow.

“Right, yeah, I am,” Ian cleared his throat, seemingly coming back to reality more and more, “Originally, Canaryville, but not for long. My dad kind of had a cinderella story, and moved us to Lakeshore when I was about eight.”

It sounded as ridiculous and fake as Mickey knew it was.

“That's wonderful,” smiled Albert, thankfully believing the bullshit he was fed, “It's always nice to hear inspiring stories like that. Mine was similar, but in Cleveland.”

Ian smiled and nodded in agreement, but glanced at his stewing husband again, who didn't seem to be calmed by Ian's recovery.

“So you're also from Canaryville?” questioned Albert as he turned to face Mickey.

“That's right.”

“So, what's your _cinderella_ story?”

“I worked my ass off through school.”

Albert chuckled, “That's even more impressive, Mickey. I love a man that works hard.”

“Thanks,” murmured Mickey, before inhaling the last of the expensive scotch in his glass.

“Please, excuse us for a moment,” said John as he suddenly stood, with Ian standing slowly beside him. He looked like a beaten dog as he followed John towards the restrooms, and Mickey's heart ached at the sight. He couldn't even feel worried about Ian's slip up coming back to hurt him.

“They're a strange pair, aren't they?” observed Albert.

“Kinda.”

“It feels an awful lot like John keeps a muzzle on Ian.”

Mickey looked to Albert curiously and watched the old man frown with very sincere sympathy.

“Kid barely said five words this whole night,” he added.

“Yeah. Since he's my boss I try not to think about it too much.”

Albert nodded and looked to Mickey with understanding. “He keeps a muzzle on you, too. You're not quite as candid as I know you to be.”

Mickey snorted. “He's my boss, man. Am I supposed to drop the f-bomb in front of him every two seconds?”

Albert chuckled.

“Right, probably not the best idea,” spoke Albert, “Just missing that crude mouth a little bit.”

Mickey felt a sickly turn of his stomach as Albert smirked at him, and realized how naive he had been thinking that this other side of Albert had been somehow dissolved. His attention was stolen away, though, as he noticed the other two returning. Ian didn't look any calmer, now.

Albert quickly leaned over and whispered into Mickey's ear, “Perhaps we should call it a night? For his sake?”

Mickey quickly nodded before the other two sat down.

“Apologies for that,” smiled John as he breezed back into his seat.

“Not a problem,” assured Albert, “We were just talking about heading out, anyways.”

John looked to Mickey with an impressed expression and a knowing smile that Mickey wanted to punch right off of his face. “Wonderful. I'll take care of the check. Excuse me, again.”

John stood and wandered off to the other end of the restaurant behind a bar with decorative plants. Mickey let his eyes finally roll without shame and looked at Ian. Even with John gone he was still staring down at the table silently.

“Are you alright?” asked Albert.

Ian looked like an android as he quickly lifted his head with a strange, bright smile.

“Oh, yeah. I'm totally fine,” he said almost cheerfully, “I've got a bit of a headache, is all. But, John hunted down some aspirin for me.”

Mickey frowned heavily as he watched the obvious song and dance. It was so uncomfortable, and only made him want to wrap Ian up into a big hug and not let go.

“Ah,” returned Albert quietly, “Well, wine tends to give me a headache, too.”

Mickey felt a swell of appreciation as the old man smiled sweetly at Ian and dropped his obvious speculation. Ian's smile warmed, obviously grateful, as well.

They sat quietly, but comfortably, as they waited for John to return. Mickey bumped his foot against Ian's a couple times, playfully, and spied the hidden smile it gained him.

All three of them practically jumped up out of their seats when John reappeared. They wasted no time quietly moving to collect their coats at the front of the building, then heading outside.

“Thanks for buying dinner,” Mickey forced himself to say with a smile for his boss.

“My pleasure. You two have a good night,” smirked John.

Mickey pulled his bottom lip into his mouth to resist spitting out harmful words, while John reached a hand out to shake Albert's. Albert obliged, also offering thanks for the evening.

“We should do this again,” suggested John.

“Yes, that'd be lovely. You two get home safe,” returned Albert, directing his hand over in offering to Ian. He smiled at Albert as he shook his hand and Mickey soaked up the look, knowing he was about to go another forty-eight hours without seeing him.

John handed his ticket off to the valet and Mickey watched Albert do the same with a relieved breath. Mickey gave another parting to the group and moved down the sidewalk enough to pull out a cigarette to light up. He pulled out his phone to order an uber and had barely just managed when he felt a presence.

He turned with raised eyebrows for Albert, who was smirking with a tilted head.

“Something else you need?”

“Well, a direct answer on if we're going to continue our evening or not.”

Mickey snorted, “Nah, man. I wasn't trying to give you any ideas, at any point. I'm here because my boss made me.”

“Oh.” Albert's smile fell away and he actually looked hurt by that response.

Mickey sighed quietly as he glanced passed Albert to where Ian was still standing with John, waiting for their car.

“Look, even if I was into bangin' _older models_ , it wouldn't matter. I'm dating someone.”

“Is it serious?”

Mickey raised his brows and uncontrollably glanced over to Ian, again, who just so happened to be watching him this time. He smiled and forced his eyes back to Albert, “More serious than anything I've ever experienced before.”

Albert smiled warmly and nodded a few times. “Then that's great. I'm happy for you.”

“Thanks,” chuckled Mickey, raising his cigarette to take another hit.

“Thank _you_ for humoring an old man all night.”

Mickey snorted, “No problem.”

As the valet pulled up with the car Albert had arrived in Mickey expected the old man to run away with what pride he had left. Yet, even after tipping the valet, he lingered. Mickey gave him a suspicious look as Albert glanced back at the other two, who were climbing into their own car now. Ian looked out at them before dropping into the driver's seat and Mickey felt a dull thud in his chest, but he curiously returned his focus to Albert and his strange behavior.

“Listen, keep this between us, but there might be a job opening up at my company pretty soon. We could really use a web developer. We're hoping to expand our market out to more after the software release, which is going to be a lot of work.”

“You offering me a job?”

“If you ever want to get away from John, just let me know,” smiled Albert with a knowing twinkle to his gaze.

“And what's the catch? BJ's every tuesday?”

“Well, that sounds nice, but no. Nothing like that. You've got a good reputation already, you know? You work hard and get it done quick. And apparently you show great leadership skills. I think you're going places, kid. And I wouldn't mind helping you take a step up. I guarantee it'll come with a raise.”

Mickey felt entirely blindsided by this. For a long passing moment he just stared at Albert with a dumbfounded look, unsure of what to even say.

“There's really no catch? I don't have to sleep with you, or anything, to get it?”

Albert chuckled, “There was some miscommunication about your intentions this evening. But, you've made it very clear that you're not interested. I'm not an idiot, Mickey, and I'm not going to make anyone do anything they don't want. I sincerely enjoy you, and respect you, now. I'd love to have you working at my company.”

Mickey nodded, but his entire life made him suspicious of it. It was too good to be true. Albert reached inside of his jacket and proceeded to hand over a business card.

“Just don't tell John. You obviously know that he can be a real asshole.”

Mickey laughed loud, surprised and pleased at Albert's opinion. “Yeah, clearly I do know that.”

Albert grinned at him before he departed with a wink and, “Hope to hear from you, Mickey.”

Mickey waved goodbye as he watched the old man drive off and felt flabbergasted by how different he saw Albert now.

He smoked his cigarette down to the filter well before his uber arrived, lost in thought of the strange evening. But, mostly of this new job prospect. The possibilities in his future now were even better than he could've imagined.

If the job would become available once the software was done, that meant he could leave Woods Tech. after only three to four more months. And that alone could change so much for his quality of life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is a little fried after writing so much who-gives-a-shit-dialogue haha Excited to get to the goodness that's coming up ;) Please excuse any mistakes! And merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates it!


	10. I'll Be the Stone That You Need Me to Be

The drive home was excruciatingly quiet, which made it feel like a build up. Ian swarmed with intense anxiety that made it difficult to focus, but he somehow managed to get them home safely, and when he put the car in park he felt overwhelmingly tired. John said nothing as he exited the car and Ian rolled his eyes before following.

John didn't wait, or hold the doors for Ian, but he managed to catch both of them. He watched him pull his coat off and toss it towards the decorative chair before storming off towards the bedroom. Ian sighed heavily and hung both of their coats up in the hall closet.

Ian truly contemplated just heading straight to the couch to curl up and avoid everything for a solid eight hours. But, he'd have to face the music eventually. Maybe John would just silently stew beside him in bed; he could ignore that, no problem.

Ian stopped off into the kitchen to take his nightly medication, with a glass of water that he also used to try to calm his nerves. Not much luck there, unfortunately. He practically drowned himself in the process.

When he entered the bedroom he noticed John's discarded suit on the floor and heard him brushing his teeth in the en suite. Ian took advantage and quickly changed into sweats and a cotton tee. He was just about to dive into the bed when John stepped out of the bathroom and looked square at him.

Ian stared back for a moment, before breaking and saying, “Look, I'm really sorry that I slipped up tonight, okay? It won't happen again. My mind was just a little foggy.”

John scoffed with an annoyed look. “You gonna play the crazy card? Blame it on that?”

“No,” spat Ian, before taking a calming breath to speak more carefully, “I just meant that I got distracted. Next time I'll stay focused.”

“You better, Ian, because otherwise what the fuck am I giving you all of this for?” John waved his hand around, raising his voice more and more. “I don't even drag you to these things that often, you're the one who's getting the better end of the deal. All I ask is just that every now and then you put on the face I gave you. And make me look like the fucking sun in your sky.”

Ian nodded rhythmically as he listened, having heard this very speech one too many times.

“Do you want me to send you and your _supposed_ brother packing? I'd have no problem kicking that kid out of my place.”

“Don't do that,” sighed Ian, “Don't talk about Liam like he's just some random kid. He's a good kid, anyways, he stays out of your way, so what do you care?”

“Don't redirect the conversation. Let's get back to why in the hell you were acting brain dead tonight, huh?”

“Jesus,” groaned Ian, “I wasn't that bad. I had one slip-up. _One_.”

“Half of the time you were just staring into your wine like a brainless doll. And you didn't say a single good thing about me to Albert. You talked about yourself more than anything else.”

“That's how people converse, John. What, you mad that I told him about wanting to be a social worker?”

“Yes!” bellowed John abruptly, “And every other detail you gave him! I have a specific image I want you to present and you did the opposite!”

“Stop yelling at me,” demanded Ian quietly, but with a focused stare.

His hands were shaking and he was trying to remain calm, but his yelling was pulling on his survival string and he didn't want to make a mistake he couldn't take back.

“Well, apparently you need it to get all this through your thick fucking skull! He's my most important client and you embarrassed me. You made me look like a liar and an asshole!”

“You did that all on your own,” snapped Ian, and instantly regretted it.

John rushed forward and Ian braced himself as he pointed a finger directly in his face.

“Fuck you, you pathetic little street rat! You owe me everything! If I hadn't come across you, you'd still be blowing old guys in the back of a sleazy club!”

Ian clenched his jaw, turning his gaze away as his chest began to rise and fall unsteadily.

“What, does the truth piss you off that much?” taunted John, “Good. That's what you need to focus on. You're nothing without me, and you need to kiss my ass a little more. Because, I swear, Ian, you've only gotten worse and worse in the last six months. I'm ready to pull the fucking plug on this bullshit.”

Ian nodded his head again, keeping his eyes fixated on his tall dresser. He fought every single one of his instincts and quietly spoke, “Okay. I get it. You're right, I haven't been giving it my all lately, and I promise I'll try harder to dote on you in front of whoever you want, okay?”

John seemed to deflate a bit as he got exactly what he wanted. Ian glanced at him, but that's all he could manage.

“Can we go to bed now? I'm tired.”

“Of course you are,” scoffed John, “That's another thing, you're so fucking tired every night, _conveniently_. That why you want me to go out and fuck more guys?”

Ian pulled in another steadying breath, unsure of how to even answer this.

“Remember when you couldn't keep your hands off of me? The fuck happened to you?”

“Well, being berated like a dumb kid doesn't exactly get me hard, alright?”

“Grow the fuck up.”

“Can I go to sleep now, or not?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want. I'll just keep giving you everything for the bare minimum in return. Sound good to you?” spat John sarcastically.

Ian sighed, “I can't talk to you like this.”

Ian moved towards the bed, deciding to cut this all short, because clearly John wanted to keep it going by any means possible. But, as he reached the bed the last thing he expected happened. John snatched a hold of his arm and yanked him, to keep him from laying down. Ian instantly turned and shoved him, dislodging John off of his arm.

A moment passed as Ian stared at John with wild, shocked eyes, until the rage gathered to a fine point in his chest. He then moved closer, until he was in John's face.

“You lay your hands on me again and I'll knock you the fuck out,” threatened Ian through his teeth.

John met him with a challenging stare and slowly licked his front teeth. Ian simply tilted his chin up a bit more and waited. Gradually John moved back, but still looked like he was ready to attack or defend. Ian didn't take his eyes off of him for a moment as he reached down and snatched his pillow off of the bed.

John scoffed at the sight and crossed his arms. “Sure,” he mumbled, “Just run off.”

“You're acting like a fucking psycho.”

“That's ironic, coming from you.”

Ian froze up, squeezing his pillow tightly in his hands. He sighed angrily through his nose and considered that it was completely fair to deck John in this situation. But, as a small smirk grew on John's face he saw it all for what it really was.

He would not give John the satisfaction of caving. Ian walked out of the room without another word and slammed the door behind him so hard that it rattled loudly. He took one look at the couch and moved in the opposite direction towards the other end of the condo. He tossed his pillow onto the bed of the guest room, but couldn't lay down just yet.

Ian collected his phone and cigarettes from his coat and made his way out onto the balcony. He glanced towards the closed bedroom door through the clear glass balcony doors and moved down to the end of the balcony, dropping into one of the dark brown wicker chairs that he usually smoked in.

He lit a cigarette, but hesitated his next move. John was still awake, after all. But...Ian couldn't stop himself from pulling up Mickey's contact and dialing.

He took a long drag from his cigarette as he put the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing on the other end. It felt like it went on forever before there was a click and then the most beautiful sound Ian had ever heard; Mickey's voice directly in his ear.

“Hello?”

Ian's mouth went dry at the sudden relief he felt, but he also had no idea what he was even going to say. He hadn't really thought any of this through, he just knew he needed to feel a little closer to Mickey in this moment.

“Uhh, hey,” returned Ian as casually as possible.

There was a pause and Ian found himself swallowing roughly, before again anxiously puffing on his smoke.

“What's up?” questioned Mickey quietly.

Ian shut his eyes and honestly spoke, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just...John picked a fight with me and I'm trying to calm down.”

“Where are you?”

“Out on the balcony. Needed a smoke really bad. He's, uh, in the bedroom, so don't worry.”

Another quiet moment set in and Ian frowned, so sure that Mickey would point out the risk and hang up, so he questioned, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” exhaled Mickey, “Yeah, it's fine. Tell me what happened?”

“He basically went off on me for every mistake I made tonight. Said I embarrassed him, and that I have one job, yet I still managed to fuck that up.”

“Does he seriously call your marriage a job?”

“Yep. All the fucking time,” grumbled Ian, “And he's not wrong about that, it really is one. I have a script I'm supposed to stick to and it's been the same since the beginning, so apparently I'm a moron for messing up.”

“Fuck him,” refuted Mickey, “He's the one who embarrassed himself, and made everyone uncomfortable. You know, Albert called him an asshole?”

Ian let out a laugh of disbelief, “No he didn't.”

“Yep. When he was waiting for his car.”

This actually made him smile. He sucked in another hit of smoke and felt any guilt about how he handled the night ebb away into the night. But, as he pictured Mickey and Albert still standing on the sidewalk as he drove away, that guilt was replaced with another uncomfortable feeling.

“So, did you do anything with him?” asked Ian cautiously.

“Who? Albert?” laughed Mickey.

“Yeah.”

“Nah. I said I wasn't interested and he got the message.”

“Really? After all that?”

“Well, I, uh...” Mickey paused and Ian furrowed his brow, pressing his phone in tighter to his ear as he waited. “I told him I was dating someone.”

An unexpected flutter moved through Ian's body and he smiled through it, happily questioning, “You did?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wasn't wrong, right?”

Mickey sounded nervous, maybe even distant, as he spoke. Ian full out grinned and wished that much more he could see Mickey in this moment.

“You're definitely right, in my eyes.”

“Cool,” returned Mickey shortly, nervously, “Um, but, yeah, anyhow, apparently John really did encourage Albert, like gave him ideas about me or somethin'.”

“That's no surprise. He's done the same thing to me, and I'm _married_ to him.”

“You fuckin' serious? He's tried to pimp you out?”

“'Course he has. I'm just a fuckin' plaything to him, you know.”

Mickey scoffed into the phone. “Man, what a piece of shit.”

“You've only scratched the surface, believe me,” murmured Ian as the fight in the bedroom flashed again in his mind, “I swear to god, Mick, I came so close to beating the shit out of him just a bit ago. I was still shaking when I first called.”

“What'd he do?”

“Pushed my buttons. But, I realized he was trying his hardest to get a rise out of me, just like Frank used to do when he was in a bad mood, ya know? I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, so I walked away.”

“Yeah, that's good. He'd prolly just make your life even worse.”

Ian rolled his eyes and noticed his cigarette was nearing its end, so he leaned over to the ashtray that only he used and pressed the rest out. “Can't see how at this point,” replied Ian.

Quiet set in once more and Ian leaned back in the chair, noticing just how cold it was outside. He hadn't really noticed in all his rage when he first stepped out, but now he was calming and feeling, again. He glanced towards the balcony doors and released a gentle breath of relief, letting the sounds of the busy city drift into his ears. He hadn't really paid attention to the up until now, either.

“So, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Just standing in my kitchen,” answered Mickey, “I only got home a bit ago.”

Ian shut his eyes for a moment and tried to picture it. Mickey standing in a standard apartment kitchen, still wearing his suit, but the tie was loose and his shirt was untucked. He could see him holding a beer and a cigarette in the same hand, and imagined him staring heavily, licking his lips as he had when they had stopped kissing in the alley.

Ian let loose a shaky breath as he then spoke, “I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too,” returned Mickey gently, making Ian's heart flutter, “Sucks that I gotta wait til Monday to see ya.”

Ian smiled warmly at that.

“Yeah, maybe we could sneak off for an hour after work or something?”

Mickey hummed into the phone and replied, “I dunno bout that, Ian. As tempting as it sounds.”

“Yeah,” returned Ian sullenly, “Guess we shouldn't push it. But, we're still going to try for next Friday, right?”

“Of course we are,” replied Mickey with ease.

“Thanks, Mickey.”

“For what?”

“For talking to me. I feel so much better now.”

“Good. You, uh, should head to bed, alright? You gotta be exhausted.”

“Yeah.” Ian wondered how Mickey could know something like that. How John's reaction to the night took such a toll on his mental being that he was in such a dire need for sleep. Did he sound tired, he wondered.

“And if you're alone at all tomorrow you should try to text me, okay?”

Ian smiled, “Yeah, okay.”

“Alright, Gallagher, go have some sweet dreams about me.”

Ian snorted. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“Oh yeah? What kinda dreams you havin' bout me? Am I wearing clothes in them?”

Ian laughed at that.

“Not usually,” purred Ian, gaining a sweet chuckle in response from Mickey. “Okay, I'll let you go. Have a good night, Mick.”

“You too, Gallagher.”

Ian beamed and couldn't quite bring himself to hang up, but it seemed Mickey couldn't either as a long silent moment unfolded. Slowly, Ian lowered the phone and ended the call.

He erased the call from his log and made his way inside, where he laid down in bed and lost himself to thoughts of Mickey until he really was dreaming sweet dreams about the man.

 

 

**

It was so difficult not to text Ian. After a full twenty-four hours passed by without a text from him, Mickey was practically climbing out of his skin. He had so much to say, about so many different topics. He was endlessly concerned after their late night phone call, given how broken Ian had initially sounded on the phone.

Not to mention, after their very heated kissing in the alley, Mickey went to bed yearning for Ian's presence even more than usual, and then woke with the same yearning. He spent all of Saturday thinking about it. And went to bed even more anxious with need for Ian. He slept in late on Sunday morning, in attempt to make the day move by faster.

It was eleven thirty when he moseyed to his kitchen for coffee. Once sitting at his table with a steaming mug and his pack of cigarettes, he contemplated getting himself a hobby that would get him out of the house. He had even struggled playing video games the day before as his mind kept drifting back to Ian.

He sighed exhaustively as he slouched in his chair and began to stare off into nothingness while he slowly drank his coffee down. He was really becoming a needy mess for that redhead more and more.

When he made his second cup of coffee his phone began to ring from where it sat on the table, and Mickey couldn't help the hope he felt that he'd maybe get to hear Ian's voice again. This hope was not misplaced, he discovered, as he saw Ian's name. He answered with a smile.

“Hey, what's up, Gallagher?”

“Hey, Mick,” greeted Ian cheerfully, “I was hoping you'd answer. You're not busy, are you?”

“Nah, just being lazy. What's going on with you?”

“Trying to be lazy, too,” chuckled Ian, “John went out to brunch, or something, and I don't get Liam for another hour.”

“Well, I'm sure you needed some alone time to recuperate anyhow.”

“No shit,” huffed Ian, “John worked from home all day yesterday, at the kitchen counter. I couldn't avoid him for even ten minutes.”

“So, how'd ya keep yourself occupied?” asked Mickey as he moved to collect his mocha flavored coffee creamer from the fridge. He poured a generous amount into his coffee and stirred it up while he listened to Ian's answer.

“Got caught up on schoolwork. Which was good, but honestly depressing. I know firsthand what kind of terrible shit happens to kids, but reading examples and ways to handle it for hours is pretty upsetting.”

“Shit, I can't imagine. It'd be tough reading what shit _should've happened_ growing up, too, I'll bet. You know, to correct the shitty situations.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Like, knowing that no one did those things, or helped.”

“Yeah,” murmured Mickey as he scooped up his coffee and headed back for the table.

“To be honest, studying this stuff usually gives me more motivation to stick with my current path, for Liam's sake.”

“I dunno, man,” spoke Mickey as he reached for his pack of cigarettes, “It can't be healthy for him to see his brother so unhappy. You know, I read once that the youngest tends to be the most fucked up in dysfunctional families, because some shit about stronger psychological effects of constantly witnessing everything.”

“Yeah, that's true. I can't imagine him being any more fucked up than me or Lip, but I'm sure he's got all kinds of repressed shit.”

A quiet moment passed as Mickey frowned and alternated between smoking and sipping his hot coffee. It was fine, though. He didn't feel anxious, at all, being quiet on the phone with Ian. Just knowing he could say anything and Ian could hear it, or vise versa, made the experience soothing.

“I was texting with Lip yesterday about divorcing John.”

Mickey's heart skipped a big beat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. John was holding it over my head again on Friday night, but I actually kind of believed him this time. He pointed out how...distant I've been for the last half of year or so, and how he really wasn't benefiting much from our arrangement anymore. I think he really will kick us out if I push him too far.”

Mickey simply scoffed, wanting to point out how good that would be for Ian, but he didn't say a word as he understood everything that Ian was doing this for.

“Lip and I talked about me moving back in, if or when John dumps me. We're pretty confident that with my savings, and his job, Liam could still go to a decent private school and we'd have no problem paying the bills while I finish out my bachelor's.”

“But, you won't be able to get your masters or whatever licensing you talked about, huh?”

“I can always do those later down the road, once Liam is an adult.”

“Sounds like a good plan, man. You two can just tag-team that shit.”

“Yeah, he's on board for that, too. I just want to squeeze out as much as I can get from John first, so we're really comfortable. Maybe get most of the last year of college paid up, you know?”

“Does he pay for your college?”

“He's helped out with a semester before, but usually I pay it.”

“Oh. Have you looked at jobs?”

“Not yet, but I'm sure I won't have a problem finding some sort of secretarial work, now. I'll probably have to take like a ten grand pay cut, but...”

Mickey had the sudden urge to offer any help he could, even financially, but it felt too intimate to suggest such a thing. Everything with them was still too fresh, he didn't even know if they'd still be talking by the time Ian broke free.

“It feels really good talking about it. Like, I'm regaining some control over my life.”

“That's good, Ian. I'm sure everyone who matters will support ya.”

“Yeah,” breathed Ian. “Um, I'm really glad you picked up, Mick. I wanted to thank you again for calming me down on friday night.”

“It's cool, man, don't worry about it.”

Ian laughed softly into the phone, which had the hairs on Mickey's arms standing up, as if they were trying to get closer to the beautiful sound.

“So, what did you do yesterday?” inquired Ian with a lighter tone.

“Jack shit.”

Ian laughed again. “Really? Nothing?”

“Eh, just fucked around. Played some games, did some laundry, nothing exciting.”

“I can't wait to see your place.”

Mickey heated up at those words, knowing full well that Ian was referring to next Friday. He glanced around, feeling unnecessarily self-conscious about his simple home.

“Don't get too excited. It's nothing special,” spoke Mickey, hiding his insecurity behind a blase tone.

“It's _yours_ ,” returned Ian simply, “Of course I'm excited.”

“Yeah, alright, Sweet-talker,” chuckled Mickey nervously.

“It's true,” argued Ian, “You could live in a shipping crate and I'd still be excited.”

“Because it's mine, or because you think we're gonna bang the second we get inside?”

Mickey smiled as Ian paused then softly hummed in consideration.

“Because it's yours,” concluded Ian.

“Fuck off,” laughed Mickey.

Ian burst out laughing with him and defended, “I swear! The potential fucking is just a nice bonus.”

“Yeah, whatever,” murmured Mickey, grinning endlessly as he flicked ash off of the end of his cigarette into the glass ashtray on his table. He took a big drink of coffee before Ian spoke again.

“So, since you brought it up,” sang Ian softly, before his tone dropped more, “What'ya wearing, Mick?”

“Are you fuckin' serious?” laughed Mickey.

“Yes! Describe it, please.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and answered reluctantly, “Blue plaid pajama pants.”

A long pause set in and Mickey squirmed nervously, pressing his lips together.

“That's it?” questioned Ian.

“That a problem?”

“No shirt? No boxers or briefs?”

“No. Just the pants.”

Another pause passed by before Ian continued, “Shit, I should've video called you.”

Mickey snorted, though grew nervous at the thought and chuckled, “Fuck off.”

“Seriously! And don't you wanna know what I'm wearing?”

“Well, considering I don't remember calling a sex hotline I didn't think to ask.”

A deep laugh floated through the receiver to Mickey's ear and again his skin tingled in reaction.

“Boxer-briefs and a muscle shirt.”

The image eagerly appeared in Mickey's head, before Ian even added, “Sitting on my couch...all alone.”

Mickey again grinned and questioned, “You tryin' to have phone sex with me right now, Firecrotch?”

“Maybe,” sang Ian innocently. “Got a problem with that?”

“I dunno,” mumbled Mickey as he pressed his cigarette out into the ashtray, “Never done that before.”

“Well, tell me where you're at in your apartment.”

“My kitchen table,” replied Mickey confusedly.

“You should probably head to your bed first.”

“You're really serious?”

“What, you don't want to listen to me getting off to you getting off?”

“What got you all hot and bothered?” chuckled Mickey, avoiding giving the obvious answer to the last question.

“Your voice,” replied Ian simply, “And I keep thinking about the way you kissed me. No one's ever kissed me like that before.”

“Like what?” asked Mickey quietly as his suddenly heart galloped more and more.

“Like you wanted to meld yourself to me, or something. I didn't have to hold myself back with you.”

Mickey's brows rose as he silently nodded in agreement. He felt the same way about it.

“Have you been thinking about it?”

How could he not? Mickey nearly scoffed at the absurdity of the question.

“'Course I have,” he answered.

Ian released a soft noise and Mickey smiled, wishing he could go to him right now and kiss him again.

“Well, how about you keep thinking about it and go to your bedroom,” suggested Ian, clearly through a large smile that Mickey could picture just as well as he heard it.

Mickey laughed, “Yeah, alright.”

“Mmm, I'm already getting turned on,” purred Ian, “Can I hang up and video call you?”

“Baby steps,” returned Mickey as he made his way back to his bedroom faster than he'd ever admit. He sat back against his favorite pillow and tried to push away the nervousness that swarmed him suddenly. He felt a bit awkward as he didn't even know where to begin.

“You in bed?”

“Yes,” sighed Mickey.

Ian chuckled deeply, “Okay, good. You should start touching yourself.”

Mickey chewed his bottom lip for a moment as he still felt strange with the foreign experience. But, then Ian let out a breath, focusing his attention with interest.

“I keep thinking about if we'd stayed in that alley,” spoke Ian lowly, “I don't know if we could've held ourselves back. There were so many things I wanted to do to you.”

“Like what?” murmured Mickey.

“Like I wanted to get on my knees so badly for you.”

Mickey's brows rose as unexpected goose bumps raced down his limbs.

“Would you've liked that? If I'd sucked you off in that dirty alley?”

Mickey swallowed roughly and absentmindedly nodded his head. He found his eyes closing, imagining the scenario Ian had given him, and let his hand slip into his pants. Ian let out another loud breath and Mickey eased into stroking himself slowly. His mind began to flicker between them in the alley and Ian touching himself on his couch. He was getting hard, now.

“Or maybe you would've liked it more if I'd turned you around and pressed you into that brick wall, so I could pull down your pants and push my tongue inside of you?”

Mickey uncontrollably let out a sound of agreement, which seemed to make Ian groan quietly. His mind chased that sound as he began to stroke himself just a little faster.

“I'd like that, too,” stated Ian in a husky voice that Mickey thought might be his favorite, “I've thought about doing that to you a lot, Mick.”

Mickey let out a harsh breath as pleasure suddenly moved through him.

“Are you still wearing your pants?”

Mickey opened his eyes as he hadn't expected that question. He almost complained about Ian distracting him when he was starting to get into it a lot, but instead answered, “Yeah.”

“Take them off,” demanded Ian.

Mickey's dick responded eagerly to that command, and he wasted no time pulling them off and setting them beside himself.

“Alright, they're off,” spoke Mickey, ignoring just how eager he sounded in doing so.

“Mmm, wish I could see you,” moaned Ian, which had Mickey quickly returning his hand to himself. He was so sensitive now that he momentarily shut his eyes tight, and found himself saying out loud, “Shit, Ian, I'm already so hard.”

Ian responded with a deep groan that went right to Mickey's sensitive dick.

“Me too,” he spoke, “Wanna be there to take care of that for you. I'd love to lick you up and down until you're shaking for more.”

Mickey almost felt dizzy as he imagined Ian between his legs, painfully taking his time. He knew from their kissing just how strong Ian's tongue was. He could only imagine how talented it would be on his flesh.

“Can't decide which part of you I want to lick more,” continued Ian, “I could spend a lot of time just fuckin' licking and sucking on you, _all over_.”

Mickey was again silently nodding his head with eagerness.

“Maybe I'll work my way to your ass first, and eat it until you're close to coming, and then I'll suck your cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” whispered Mickey, as the excited thick feelings inside of him thrummed for release. He really hadn't expected this to get him going this much, especially so quickly. But, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard anything more hot than Ian talking dirty in his ear.

“You got lube near by?” questioned Ian breathlessly, unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” answered Mickey tightly, fighting back his own sounds of pleasure.

“You should get that out,” suggested Ian, “I wanna hear you fuck yourself.”

A rush of intense pleasure had Mickey thinking he was about to come from those words alone. He stopped everything he was doing and shifted closer to the nightstand. He put the phone on speaker, made sure the volume was up, and placed it on the edge. Then he retrieved his favorite lube from the top drawer and readjusted his pillow so he could lay down more.

He glanced at the phone and spoke, “Can ya hear me still?”

“Mhm,” returned Ian, “Still wishing I could see you, though.”

“Maybe next time,” returned Mickey as he squirted a generous amount of lube into his hand.

He stroked some onto his dick before moving his hand down to spread a good amount onto his entrance. He wrapped his left hand around himself and immediately returned to a steady rhythm as he curled his other fingers to spread the remaining lube all over them evenly, before moving them down to circle his lubed rim. It wasn't long before the lube began to tingle, which made his other hand stuttered as he released a sharp breath. He closed his eyes and focused on relaxing as he continued circling himself, dipping just a bit more inside each time.

“Are you imagining it's me, Mickey?”

“Mhm,” responded Mickey before biting down on his bottom lip to muffle the whimper that tried to escape.

Ian let out a small sound and practically whined as he spoke, “I can't wait to put my fingers in you.”

Mickey's first finger followed Ian's words and slowly eased inside. He moved it in and out with the same level of ease and focused on pumping his other hand a little faster to garner steady pleasure.

“I'd move them slowly at first,” said Ian, “But, only _at first_.”

Mickey pressed his second, eager, finger inside and found his breathing picking up. He imagined Ian hovering over him, giving him that cocky smirk that he loved. Like the redhead could always read his mind and knew just what he did to him.

He spread his legs even more, bending his knees tight, as his fingers began to move with more force. He rolled his head to the right and let out a long smooth breath while he fucked himself harder, and harder. He curled his fingertips just enough to brush his prostrate and groaned, “Ah, fuck.”

“Christ, Mick,” gasped Ian suddenly, “You sound so good.”

Mickey was entirely relaxed into the situation, now, as pleasure hit his core over and over. He was panting loudly, desperately, as Ian questioned, “How many fingers you got inside yourself?”

“Two,” answered Mickey brokenly.

“I wanna hear you take another one.”

Mickey licked his lips and let out a moan as he pressed the third in. He sucked in a loud breath at the pressure and returned his focus to stroking his cock with his other hand, quickly and greedily. There were growing steady sounds of Ian's loud breathing coming from the phone that he centered on as he began to move his fingers with more and more ease again.

“Fuck I want to see you so bad,” groaned Ian, “I wish I was there. I would fuck you so hard. You like getting fucked hard, Mick?”

“Yeah,” gasped Mickey, “Fuck, yeah.”

Ian grunted into the phone before his voice became more boisterous and confident.

“I bet you'd take it so well—and I wouldn't give you a second of mercy. I'd pin you down to the bed and pound you until you said my name.”

Mickey's mouth fell open to spill out a loud moan, his fingers plunging harder and harder as the fantasy took over every corner of his imagination. His whole body was on fire and he felt his release creeping in with promise.

“Fuck, Ian,” he ground out.

Ian released a loud grunt with a following series of broken breaths and whimpers. Mickey's back arched a bit as the obvious fact he was listening to Ian come had his body shuddering and chasing the release that built and built.

“Ugh, Mickey,” breathed Ian in a desperate voice, “You made me come so hard—I have to hear you—You gotta come for me, Mick, please, come for me.”

Mickey was shoved over the edge and as he was blinded by pleasure he could barely stroke himself through it. He let forth a guttural groan that mixed with Ian's name into the air of his room.

When he collapsed, slightly noting the soreness as he pulled his fingers out, he looked to the phone on his nightstand like it was a magical device.

He tried to calm his breathing for a moment, licking his dry lips, and grabbed his discarded pants to clean his hands off with before reaching for the phone. He took it off of speaker and put it back to his ear, but had no idea what to even say _now_.

“Fuck,” was all that came out of his mouth.

Ian chuckled thoroughly at that, before responding, “Yeah, _fuck_ is right. Jesus, I only want to come over more, now.”

“Yeah,” laughed Mickey, “My shipping crate is ready for ya.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Mickey snorted, “I'll let you be the judge of that.”

Ian laughed while Mickey grinned through a drawn out, steadying, breath. His heart was barely starting to settle.

“So, can I pick you up for work tomorrow?”

“What? No, man. I already told ya we shouldn't be getting so relaxed about shit like that.”

“But...Please?”

Mickey laughed. “You should probably go get cleaned up so you can pick your brother up.”

Ian sighed loudly. “Yeah, alright,” he grumbled.

 

 

*

Mickey couldn't believe his eyes. He was stuck for a moment, frozen in the same spot where he'd stepped out of his apartment complex.

There, parked on the corner of the block, was Ian. Leaning against his car, wearing sunglasses and a knowing smile, like some sort of misplaced _GQ_ model.

“Mornin', Mick,” he called out.

Mickey narrowed his tired eyes as he gradually approached.

“What you doin' here?” he questioned exhaustively.

“Thought I'd ignore you and try to give you a ride to work, anyways.”

Mickey was too tired to even roll his eyes, so he just stared at the redhead with disbelief.

“Come on,” whined Ian, “What's the big deal? I told you I'd drop you off a ways away from work.”

Still, Mickey just silently stared at him.

Ian frowned and stood up straight, clearly battle ready. And apparently he'd brought the right kind of artillery as he went on to say, “Listen, I've got coffee and breakfast burritos in there.”

Mickey regarded him for a moment longer as his tired brain tried and failed to think of any compelling arguments. All he could think about was the warmth of the car, the caffeine in the coffee, and his empty stomach. The smiling redhead was also very tempting.

“Got any tabasco?”

“Uhhh, not specifically. But, there's a bunch of hot sauce packets.”

Mickey nodded and made his way to the passenger seat, only smiling _a lot_ when Ian let out an excited laugh and jogged around the front to climb into the driver's seat. Mickey reached forward and cranked the heat up on his side, before leaning in close to one of the vents with his eyes shut. He groaned boisterously as the aching in his eyes began to ebb away immediately. He felt Ian watching him, but didn't stop.

“What'd you tell John when you left so early?” he murmured.

“Nothing. He was already gone,” explained Ian, surprising Mickey, “He always goes to work early. I just had to make sure Liam's ride showed up before I left.”

“Oh.”

“See, there's nothing to be paranoid about.”

“Whatever,” grumbled Mickey, at last sitting back and opening his eyes.

He looked down to the two coffees and paper bag sitting in the center console, then slowly plucked the coffee with the initials for mocha written on the side. He took a sip of the fresh coffee and hated how pleased his body was with these conditions. How was he supposed to stick to his guns?

Ian let out a soft laugh and he looked to him, his sunglasses were now gone. Mickey's stomach danced pleasantly at the sight of those eyes, but it clearly didn't reach his expression. Considering Ian smiled widely and spoke, “You're so grumpy in the morning. It's pretty cute.”

Mickey raised a middle finger that only made Ian grin at him. Mickey pretended not to see it and opened the bag containing breakfast burritos that were still hot. He pulled out a hot sauce packet and watched Ian pull out his own burrito. As Mickey unwrapped his burrito and squirted some hot sauce sloppily on it, Ian was already a large bite into his.

“Buckle up,” he said through his mouth full of food.

Mickey scowled at him, but obliged and buckled his seat belt with his free hand.

They ate in silence for the first part of the drive. And Mickey felt even more at ease by the time he crumpled up his wrapper and put it in the bag, sitting back comfortably to focus on sipping his coffee. He felt the last bit of fight to resist these rides slipping away from him.

He then looked over at Ian, who glanced back with a smile. Mickey smiled and shook his head.

“You always wear me down, huh?” he teased.

“Mhm,” hummed Ian proudly.

He lifted his coffee for a drink, before returning it to the console. Mickey then watched as his slender, pale fingers fished out a pack of cigarettes from a hidden compartment. Ian slipped one between his lips and glanced over to the incredulous look on Mickey's face before holding the pack out in offering.

“I'm not smoking in here,” argued Mickey, “This thing is worth like half of my salary.”

Ian rolled his eyes and tossed the pack at Mickey, so he could pull a lighter from the compartment, too.

As Mickey watched Ian light the cigarette and crack his window, he slowly caved. He would just be extra careful about ashing.

“So, I enjoyed our phone call yesterday,” stated Ian, making Mickey's stomach do a sudden back flip.

He nervously hid behind his cigarette for a moment before murmuring, “Obviously.”

Ian chuckled. “Just sayin', I'm really looking forward to future _video_ calls.”

Mickey huffed a laugh and looked to Ian, who sent him a smirk.

“Yeah, I'll bet you're expecting me to put on all kinds'a shows for your ass, too.”

“Yep,” beamed Ian.

Mickey reached over and pinched him on the arm. Ian yelped and yanked his arm away, but laughed more.

“C'mon, I'm _driving_!” he said, “And don't act like you don't like the attention and praise. I've got you all figured out, Mickey.”

“Yeah, whatever,” murmured Mickey as he focused very hard on carefully ashing out the window, and not on the way those words made him feel like the center of Ian's universe. He had a strong urge to hold Ian's hand, but considering he was still smoking a cigarette, that wasn't a good idea. He wasn't quite sure about being so needy, either. It felt foreign. But, as he reflected to them holding hands in this very car before, he didn't know if he could resist. As he debated this, his mouth seemed to decide to sully the moment, and his chances for any fluffy feelings.

“So, should I expect John to be in a shitty mood?” asked Mickey curiously.

“Nah, he's over everything,” dismissed Ian.

Mickey sent him a confused expression, which Ian glanced over at a moment later. He watched the redhead's eyes suspiciously move around in a twitchy manner, before he took a long hit of his cigarette. Mickey was too interested to not inquire about it, so he poked at the situation.

“Wasn't he like livid and shit on Friday?”

“Yeah, but he calmed down on Saturday.”

“Just out of nowhere?”

“I apologized a bunch and then did everything he wanted that night, to, ya know, fix the situation,” explained Ian tightly.

 _Did everything he wanted_ —Mickey felt his stomach turn over with a batch of battery acid at those words. He wanted to ask, _what the hell does that mean_ , but he was sure he knew. And when Ian went on to barely even glance at him, he felt the sickening feelings inside confirmed.

Mickey clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval, and sucked on his cigarette for relief from the discomfort he felt. He stewed quietly for several minutes, until he was shoving the butt of his cigarette out the window.

When Ian glided them into a parking spot three blocks from work, he looked at Ian again and he didn't like what he found. Ian looked tense, and deflated, compared to the bubbly way he'd been when Mickey first got in the car. He frowned and felt a tinge of guilt for making his disgust so blatant.

“Ian, it's fine,” offered Mickey.

“It's really not,” countered Ian, “Hate that there's a part of my life that makes you look at me like that.”

“Don't. I didn't mean to get all weird. I'm the one who's butting into your life, man. It's not any of my business.”

“It's not like I enjoy _doing things_ with him.”

“Yeah, I think that's what bothers me the most,” admitted Mickey quietly.

Ian sent him a gentle look and returned, “It's not a big deal, Mick.”

Mickey snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, we'll see when fifteen years from now you're talking to a therapist about it.”

He looked to Ian with an amused smile, but found the man even more tense. He curiously watched Ian toss his cigarette out of the car and roll up the window, only to grip onto the steering wheel with both hands. He saw his jaw twitch, and his eyes go even more focused on something in the distance, and truly felt regret, even if he didn't fully understand why.

Mickey silently sighed and rubbed at his face irritably. They only had so much time before they had to head into work and he really didn't want to leave him like this. He chewed on several sentences, but still couldn't think of the right thing to say, only more questions.

So, Mickey reached over and plucked Ian's right hand off of the steering wheel. He lowered it to Ian's thigh and slipped his fingers between the redhead's, letting them rest peacefully together. It made him feel a little better that Ian's hand had instantly responded and returned the grasp.

He watched Ian smile a bit as he glanced over at Mickey.

“Sorry,” murmured Mickey, “Didn't mean to upset you, or whatever.”

“Let's just drop all that bullshit, okay?” suggested Ian, while his thumb slipped along Mickey's skin gently.

“Yeah, alright,” breathed Mickey, “So, did you finish all your schoolwork yesterday?”

“Mhm,” hummed Ian, as he clearly eyed their hugging hands with a warm look. “Did I tell you that next month I'll be going to some classes in person?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it's required. I'm kind of excited, though, to put what I've learned into practice.”

“Uh huh, someone wants to prove himself,” teased Mickey.

Ian chuckled, “Well, it almost doesn't feel real just doing everything online. Even with webcam sessions.”

“I can imagine. But, believe me, it sucks having to be present for every damn class.”

“Oh? You didn't like college?”

“It was fine, once I'd settled into it, but it was pretty rough in the beginning, given how I'd lived my life up until that point. The four-month courses I took before I got into college was even harder.”

“I really admire your determination, Mick,” smiled Ian.

Mickey felt his face warm at the compliment and bashfully murmured, “Yeah, thanks.”

They sat quietly for a few peaceful moments and Mickey found his eyes wandering around the busy block. The bus he normally took wasn't even close to catching up to them, yet. He realized then just how nice it was to relax like this before work. It was setting him up for success, regardless of what he would face. He couldn't help but wonder how strong that would be if they truly had the freedom to indulge and live as they wanted.

When he returned his eyes to Ian, he found the man watching him, smiling, like he'd never look away again.

Mickey smiled and teased, “The fuck you lookin' at?”

“Just like watching you,” shrugged Ian, “I like how you look when you're clearly thinking things over. I can practically see the wheels in your head turning.”

Mickey playfully rolled his eyes, but let his thumb reward Ian with praise in the form of back and forth strokes on the side of his hand. Ian smiled wider.

“So, what time should I come over on Friday?” asked Ian with a tilt of his head.

“As soon as you're done dropping Liam off, right?”

Ian beamed, “Perfect. I can stop and pick up some movies from a redbox?”

There was something even more electric about discussing their plans in person, while looking into each other's eyes, holding hands. Mickey felt so alive.

“Sure, that sounds good,” smiled Mickey.

Ian released an audible breath and unexpectedly asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Mickey's stomach danced with a swarm of little butterflies, but still he stubbornly returned, “How old are you? Actin' like we're in middle school or somethin—“

Ian suddenly released his hand and leaned over, turning Mickey's face towards him with perfectly placed fingertips on his jawline. He immediately stole Mickey's breath as he captured his lips in a smooth motion that had Mickey chasing him when he began to pull away. There was no way he would settle for a chaste kiss, if it felt that damn good.

He quickly wrapped a hand around the back of Ian's head and pulled him back in to a much deeper kiss that they both seemed to melt right into. They were both out of their seats a bit as they matched the distance over the center console.

Mickey ran the tip of his tongue along Ian's lip, bringing Ian's to eagerly respond by slipping along to side of Mickey's. He let out a soft sound and wrapped his mouth wider around Ian's to suck with every ounce of desire he felt.

Ian's fingertips ran down the side of Mickey's neck, and Mickey pulled his mouth away to turn his head enough to look out the windshield. They weren't exactly hidden from the herds of people heading to work. He swore he made eye contact with a woman in a pantsuit and swallowed nervously.

“We're, uh, kind of out in the open to everyone walking in the one direction,” mumbled Mickey.

Ian suddenly leaned into the other side of his neck to whisper, “Let 'em watch, I don't care.”

Mickey started to make a face, ready to argue, but then Ian's lips were ghosting along a sensitive spot of his neck. He then kissed him gently, then again, and Mickey felt his eyelids get heavy at the sensations it evoked.

“I really love kissing you,” spoke Ian, before he pressed a firm kiss just below his ear that really had Mickey shutting his eyes and leaning into it.

Mickey lost himself for another moment as he returned his lips to Ian's. Ian returned the kiss with so much heat and need that he'd practically pressed Mickey back into his seat. Mickey's body lifted just a bit in a natural desire for more, so much more, and he ran his blunt nails down the back of Ian's neck.

Ian moaned into him and pressed his hand into Mickey's body as he ran it down his chest. Mickey smiled at the response, breaking their kiss, and murmured, “Yeah, alright, I could start every morning like this.”

He opened his eyes in time to watch Ian grin, and dropped back into his seat to resist going any further. Ian stayed leaning on the middle console, watching Mickey closely.

“So, I can pick you up tomorrow?” inquired Ian, though his eyes dipped down to Mickey's lips as he said it.

“Yeah,” laughed Mickey, “Fuck it. And anyways, it's supposed to snow pretty bad tonight and tomorrow, right?”

Ian's smile turned triumphant as he nodded. Mickey narrowed his eyes playfully and tugged his head, “Give me another kiss before I head in.”

 


	11. I'm Ignited, This Is It.

Mickey was sleepily stumbling into his suit when he received the warning text from Ian that he would be heading his way soon. And twenty minutes later when Mickey had finished getting ready completely he received the next.

 **Ian:** _Here! :)_

 **Mickey:** _k gimme a minute_

Mickey threw on his coat and collected his keys, smokes, and phone. He then took a moment to look outside his living room window at the bright white snow that covered most everything, but even once his eyes adjusted he didn't see Ian's car parked where he had the day before. He didn't see it anywhere. He nearly groaned, knowing he'd have to hunt the redhead down, but there was an unexpected knock on his door that derailed his thoughts.

The shock he felt when he pulled the door open to reveal Ian had his mouth falling open; empty. Ian smiled like it was completely normal and greeted, “Good morning.”

Mickey leaned out of the apartment enough to look up and down the hall, before fumbling through his immediate questions, “Why did you—The fuck are you doing up here—Wait, _how did you get into the building_?”

Ian chuckled and moved a step directly into the door way, but Mickey didn't move, only scowled at him.

With a slow shrug Ian replied, “Some nice lady juggling three kids let me in. I found your name on the mailboxes and figured I'd just come up to the door.”

“That's great, what the hell are you doing up here?” pressed Mickey, “Didn't you get my text?”

“Yep,” chirped Ian, as his eyes clearly scanned the apartment behind Mickey, “Just wanted to meet you up here. That a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. We got a damn time limit and the roads look like shit. Don't got time to give you the fuckin' tour you're obviously looking for.”

“Grumpy,” sang Ian as his eyes returned to Mickey and shimmered amusement.

Mickey rolled his eyes away, but they swiftly returned when Ian reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling it out of his coat between them.

“You're wearing the tie I like,” noted Ian lowly as his fingers slowly began to climb up the material.

Mickey covered the bashfulness he felt by taking the corner of his lip under his canine, and focused on the freckled fingers that were getting closer and closer. He felt frozen in his convictions as Ian neared the knot; the rest of the world dissolved away by the pure anticipation.

Ian was wearing that confident smirk that Mickey thought might actually be his kryptonite as he began to pull on the tie, harder and harder until Mickey caved and let himself be pulled right into Ian's lips. He kissed Mickey so softly, slowly, like he really wanted to get his gentle message across thoroughly. Mickey liquefied into the moment, feeling his head become light, as he lifted his hand to Ian's cheek to caress.

Just as Ian had recently stated that no one had ever kissed him the way Mickey had in the alley, no one had ever kissed Mickey the way Ian did now. He'd never felt such strong fluttering accompanied by genuine emotion in such a simple, yet complex, kiss. And he would later be surprised when he looked back on how willingly he accepted the emotions that swelled his throat and ached in his eyes. He even chased them as he softly touched Ian's skin and opened his mouth for more.

Ian passed a hot breath into Mickey's mouth as he tilted his head to move the center of his bottom lip across Mickey's, before slowly sucking Mickey's between his lips. A shudder passed through Mickey and had him wrapping his other hand around Ian's side for stabilization. He couldn't stop himself from beckoning Ian in deeper, matching the tilt of his head to slip his lip free only to kiss him a little more firmly. Ian hummed appreciatively into Mickey before pulling his lips away, only to set his forehead against Mickey's.

“Can we just call in sick and do this all day?” murmured Ian softly.

Mickey smiled, but argued, “I think that would be suspicious.”

Ian sighed fully through his nose before enticingly stroking his lips back and forth against Mickey's a few times in a way that almost tickled. Mickey pulled away before he could get sucked back in, finding his vision momentarily blurry with longing.

“That goes for us both being late at the same time, too, so we should prolly get goin'.”

Ian's eyes obviously wandered Mickey's face while he smiled for a moment longer, slowly caving with a nod of his head.

They made their way outside into the freezing air and walked side by side as they moved to the other side of the block where Ian had left his car. Mickey was pleased to find coffee, again, but this time there was a bag of freshly baked donuts. He ate _three_ during their slow drive on the slushy roads as they conversed with ease about their equal desire to move somewhere warmer, Ian's favorite winter memory of building an igloo in the back yard with his brother when he was young, their agreed complaints of how poorly the roads were taken care of in their old neighborhood, and how Mickey had managed to successfully steal his old favorite winter coat from a big-named department store when he was only thirteen. Everything felt so normal, as if this had been their life for so long already. As if they didn't have any obstacles keeping them apart outside of the car.

And when Ian parked the car and they both simultaneously leaned in to share a parting kiss, Mickey could easily envision a future where this was their domestic everyday. He carried those visions of normality during his journey all the way to his desk.

“Ooh, I know that look,” sang Amy unexpectedly. She wrapped her fingers over the top of their divider and set her chin on top of them as she grinned at him knowingly, “Did you finally find a guy?”

Mickey scoffed as he removed his coat and hung it over the back of his chair, and yet he still felt a tinge of excitement.

“Yeah, his name is Nunya,” returned Mickey as he dropped into the chair.

Amy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, heard of him. _Nunya-business_ , right?”

“No. Nunya- _fuckin'_ -business.”

“Are you an actual twelve year old?” grumbled Amy before disappearing into her cubicle.

“Still seeing him, huh?” murmured Damon as he casually moved into Mickey's cubicle to lean against Mickey's desk.

“Can you two let me fucking work?” complained Mickey, waving his hands in a shooing motion.

“Wait,” piped Amy, shooting right back up to look over the divider, “Damon knows about him already? How come I don't?”

Damon chuckled as Mickey ran an annoyed hand over his face.

“Val wanted me to make sure that you knew that he's definitely invited for christmas eve, by the way.”

Mickey was very surprised by that. He looked to Damon with a furrowed brow, as if suspicious of the motivation, and asked, “Seriously? We haven't even been seein' each other that long.”

Damon shrugged. “She said she's got a good feeling, and I think she wants to ask him a million questions.”

“Great. Then I'm definitely not bringin' him.”

“You have to!” argued Amy, “I want to meet him.”

Damon and Mickey exchanged slightly panicked looks that said they'd both forgotten Val had also invited Amy during the company party from Mickey's hell.

“Uhhh,” returned Mickey mindlessly. “Don't get your hopes up. I really don't know if he'll be there.”

“What, you don't want me to meet him?” asked Amy with a slow tone of suspicion.

“Can I please start my work?” deflected Mickey, “Seriously, go away.”

Slowly, and with complaint, they both left Mickey alone with his endless contemplation of if he should invite Ian or not. He would be able to, since it was going to be on a Friday, but he couldn't figure if it would be a risk or not. Amy wasn't much of a gossiper, and he did like her a lot, but even the intimacy of bringing him to a friend's party had him stuttering. Everything was still so new. But, the visions of what could be their domestic future floated back into Mickey's mind in obvious argument and that was the moment that he actively knew.

He was already falling hard for Ian.

 

*

Thursday morning their new routine was broken as Mickey was slowly waking over a big mug of coffee. He got a call from Ian, which had him worriedly looking to the time to make sure he hadn't lost track of the hour, then answered with confusion upon finding it was way too early for Ian to be headed his way.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hey, Mickey,” breathed Ian, “I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to take you to work today.”

“Oh. It's cool. You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Liam's chauffeur called off at the last second, so I've gotta drive him to school.”

“Why doesn't he just take the bus?”

Ian laughed, “Dude, this is a prestigious private school for only parents rich enough to afford chauffeurs.”

“So fuckin' stupid. Why you even wantin' him to go to a school that can't help him get there?”

“Mmm, grumpy Mickey,” returned Ian lowly.

“Fuck off. And isn't Liam with you? Don't talk like that in front of him.”

“Like what?” teased Ian with amusement.

“All low and husky and ' _Mmm, Mickey_ ',” explained Mickey through a mocking voice.

Ian was laughing thoroughly now, which had Mickey annoyed and smiling at the same time.

“You're extra grumpy today, what's wrong with you? Sad you're not gonna get to see me?”

Mickey sighed dramatically, “Stop. Talking. Like. That. In front of your brother. You're gonna confuse the shit out of him.”

“Nah, Liam doesn't give a shit. Do ya?”

Mickey felt a spike of panic as he listened closely to the pause for Liam's reply.

“See? Doesn't care.”

Mickey hadn't heard Liam's answer, but he went on to chastise Ian, “Uh, he's still a preteen living with you and _your husband_.”

“Gallagher's don't snitch,” argued Ian. Mickey rolled his eyes at that, and as if Ian had seen it, he pressed on, “Plus, Liam doesn't like John. He knows we're only here to reap the benefits.”

“Ya know, I'm gettin' more worried about the effects this is all having on him,” said Mickey.

“That's pretty damn sweet of you, Mick. He's a smart kid, though. He figured most of it out fast.”

“You're really stressing me out, Gallagher. 's too early.”

“Alright,” chuckled Ian, “Well, I gotta let you go so I can drive, anyhow. And you've got a bus to catch.”

Mickey sighed, “Way to fuckin' spoil me in only three days, by the way.”

“At least now you're really on board with the rides, huh?”

Mickey scoffed audibly into the phone and Ian let loose one last string of laughter.

“Have a good day, Mick.”

“Yeah, you, too,” mumbled Mickey, resisting the urge to complain further more.

Really, he wasn't lying when he said he had been spoiled. He was only grumpier and grumpier as he traveled to work and didn't even get to see Ian in the lobby. He walked into the office with a scowl and dropped his coat down on the back of his chair, them deposited himself into it roughly enough that Damon popped up to look down at him.

“ _¿Qué onda hermano_?” he murmured, “Who shit in your cereal?”

Mickey glowered up at him and complained, “Bottom of my fuckin' pants are wet from the damn snow. Hate that shit.”

Damon snorted loudly, “That's it? Shit, you got anger problems.”

As he disappeared back into his cubicle Mickey took another large sip from his lobby coffee, hoping for sweet relief from the pleasurable beverage.

He had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and then Ian canceling on him had only made it worse. He kept thinking of how he couldn't wait for Friday night, and knew it was actually the core of his irritation. He was feeling worried, maybe even defensive, thinking that something was going to sneak up and steal away what joy he was looking forward. It had happened last week, after all. And perhaps Ian having to, understandably, cancel their morning commute had only triggered these concerns more.

He focused on his work for nearly an hour, almost blocking out his concerns completely, and it was nice. But, when one of the elevator doors opened and he saw a familiar shade of red in his peripherals, his head immediately snapped over at attention.

Ian's eyes were already on him and he smiled discreetly before stepping out onto the floor. He had a carrier tray of coffees and a white bakery bag in his hands that had Mickey's heart racing violently. What the fuck was he doing? Did he actually _want_ to get caught?

But, then Ian peeled his eyes away and didn't look at Mickey again as he headed to his left, straight for John's office. Mickey had a harder time resisting looking, as he found himself sitting high enough in his chair to peek over at the office in time to see Ian dismiss the receptionist and open the glass door like he owned the place.

“Hey, baby,” sang Ian, a little loudly and excitedly, before he shut the door behind him.

Mickey was deeply confused, and itched to text Ian as soon as possible for answers.

 

**

Ian made sure the door was shut tight and walked over to his confused husband, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before setting down the coffees and pastries. He then made his way back to the other side of the desk to sit in one of the leather chairs to face John.

“To what do I owe this visit?” inquired John as he peeked into the bag at the pastries.

“You said you missed me showing up at work, acting like I'm so gaga for you that I can't stay away. Thought I would do that today, because I have to talk to you about something.”

John sighed and sat back, but Ian quickly gave him a saccharin smile and chimed, “Don't look disappointed to see me. Remember the windows behind me.”

Ian relished in the annoyance that flashed over John's expression before he slapped on his best party smile and spoke, “Thank you so much, Dear. What's the damn problem?”

Ian leaned forward and narrowed his eyes a bit, even as he still smiled, and questioned, “Why did I just get a call from the chauffeur agency saying that you fired Miranda?”

“She called off at the last second, was I supposed to let that slide?”

“Because she had an emergency,” argued Ian, “Her son had a fever and she had to get him to the hospital. That's pretty understandable, don't ya think?”

“And she didn't know until a half hour before her shift? Sounds fishy to me.”

“Then you should have asked for a doctor's note. I told the agency not to punish her for it, and that she could still work for us.”

“You did what?” questioned John with a sudden stillness, “You had no right to do that.”

“And you had no right to fire a single-mother just before Christmas.”

“Oh, here we go,” huffed John with a roll of his eyes, “Poor looking out for poor, huh? I'd never understand because I never struggled, right?”

“The long and short of it, yeah,” returned Ian, cocking his head in challenge. “If she can't prove she was at the hospital, then fine. Just, give her another chance, alright? I like her.”

“Jesus, whatever,” dismissed John exhaustively, “But, if she does it again then she's gone.”

“Fine, fair,” agreed Ian as he sat back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“You really couldn't talk to me about this on the phone?” inquired John with a raised brow.

“I told you, _you specifically_ said that you want me to do stuff like this again. Ya know, um, put in some more effort.”

John's face softened. “Well, I do appreciate it. And the turnovers, too.”

Ian laughed softly, “You're welcome. I should probably get back to work, though, alright?”

John stood, murmuring agreement, and walking Ian to the door of his office. He made a bit of a show about staring at Ian lovingly, and kissing him gently. Ian again put on his best smile and walked out with a breath of relief lingering at the back of his throat.

There was no way he was going to let Miranda get in trouble for something that wasn't even that big of a deal. He knew he really had to sweeten the deal if he was going to change John's mind, and it was worth it. That, and to see Mickey for even just a moment.

Ian couldn't resist looking in Mickey's direction, but he could barely see the top of his raven hair over the cubicle divider. Damon, however, was returning to his cubicle with a can of soda in hand. He sent him a wave to which Damon quickly returned.

“Hey, Ian,” he called out, and Ian took this as an invitation to be in Mickey's vicinity, so he changed course. Damon was grinning in understanding as Ian glided over casually.

“How's it going?” inquired Damon and Mickey spun around in his chair just as Ian reached them.

He turned his bright smile on Mickey, who seemed to fight his smile down to just a pleasant one.

“Not bad. Had a little problem with a woman that works for us this morning, so I came in to discuss it with John,” explained Ian, mostly for Mickey's sake, “How are things going with you two?”

“Pretty smoothly so far, right, Mick?”

Mickey nodded and Ian's eyes lingered on him for an extra moment as he made a wish to hear Mickey's voice. He'd missed it the second he hung up his phone earlier.

“Don't mind him, he came in extra grumpy today,” teased Damon, causing Mickey to send him a threatening glare.

“Shut up, man,” hissed Mickey.

“Nothing wrong with morning grumpiness,” murmured Ian.

He smirked as he watched Mickey roll his eyes, but his attention was stolen as he noticed John looking out at him from his office with a curious tilt of his head. Ian quickly sent him a smile and sighed through it.

“I gotta get to work,” announced Ian, “You guys have a good day.”

“You, too,” returned Damon.

Ian risked one more glance at Mickey, thankful to see those blue eyes already on him, then gave Damon an appreciative smile before departing.

 

*

“Why is he still here?” murmured Liam, casting an annoyed look towards the closed master bedroom doors.

Ian finished chewing the big bite of banana he had taken, glancing back at the doors himself, and frowned at Liam. “Think we wants to see Miranda.”

“Why?”

Ian shrugged and rolled his eyes before vaguely explaining, “He didn't believe her yesterday.”

“But, she picked me up without a problem after school. She told me David has the flu.”

“Don't worry, she's not going anywhere,” winked Ian, “Finish your cereal.”

Liam nodded and picked up his spoon, again, to continue eating. Ian tossed his banana into the bag for compost and gave another quick look over at the bedroom doors, still closed, before heading into the bathroom. He locked the door and sent off a text to Mickey.

**Ian:** _Hey sorry but I won't be able to get you today either_

Thankfully the reply came quickly, as if Mickey was already holding his phone waiting.

**Mickey:** _Don't worry about it_

**Ian:** _I'm excited to hang out tonight though :) Finally._

**Mickey:** _We'll see lol_

Ian stared at those words for a moment, confusedly. He almost groaned as he considered something was getting in their way, again.

**Ian:** _What do you mean? You think you'll have to cancel?_

**Mickey:** _Nah. Just mean if something pops up like last week_

**Ian:** _Fuck that. Won't let it happen._

**Mickey:** _Can't really control that can ya?_

**Ian:** _I'm crafty [winky face emoji] Don't worry, Mick._

**Ian:** _Gotta go though_

**Ian:** _Hopefully see ya soon :)_

He waited a long moment, to make sure Mickey didn't text again, then leaned over to flush the toilet. He turned the faucet on and let it run for a bit while he deleted the text thread.

When he returned to kitchen he found Liam already in his coat, with his bookbag slung over his shoulder. Ian glanced around to make sure Liam had cleaned everything up after breakfast, and once sure he headed down the hall towards the front door. No sooner had he put on his own coat and grabbed his keys did he hear a familiar jingle. Ian shut the closet door and moved towards the intercom on the wall near the front door.

“Good morning,” greeted the security guard, his face visible on the screen, smiling like he could see Ian, too.

“Mornin',” returned Ian.

“You've got Miranda Williams down here.”

“Thanks, let her up,” chirped Ian, before reaching out to open the door.

Liam shuffled ahead of him to the other side of the antechamber to open the door to the garage, where they both went on to stand side by side while they waited. Miranda's town car came into view in what was total routine. She parked in front of them and jumped out, singing, “Good morning!”

Liam sent her a greeting as he headed for the backseat, tossing his bag inside with ease. She shut the door for Liam then turned with wide eyes for Ian. He winced a bit, wondering how he could apologize for John being a dumbass.

“Boy, you really saved my ass,” she said as she moved towards him, “My boss told me you were the one who reversed it.”

Miranda suddenly extended her arms as she cleared the last bit of space between them, bringing him to smile and accept the hug, in which he barely avoided the square knot at the front of her head wrap.

“Thank you so much,” she spoke sincerely, “This is the steadiest driving assignment I've ever had, and I didn't know what to do if I'd have to pick up a bunch more jobs to make up for it.”

She squeezed him for one last second before pulling away and smiling at him.

“Hey, I know how hard it is when the one job that's making all the difference is on the line. And you had an emergency—those are common when you're a parent.”

Miranda huffed a laugh and nodded with a knowing look.

“So, I, uh, really hate to ask, but do you happen to have a doctor's note on you? Or any of the papers from the hospital?”

She leveled him with a suspicious look, but still hung on to a bit of her smile.

“I already showed my boss.”

“And I get that that should be enough, but, uh, John's here and I think he wants to see proof.”

Miranda was frowning now. She nodded her head a few times and headed back to the car silently. He watched her fish out a folded paper from her purse in the passenger seat before she returned, holding it out. He took it with an apologetic look.

“Listen, _I_ don't need this. I trust you. But, John's...stubborn.”

She snorted, locking a hand on her hip, and Ian couldn't help the amused grin that stretched his face.

“Yeah, he's something. I do not understand your marriage,” stated Miranda.

“You're not the only one,” mumbled Ian.

Her smile hooked a little higher on one side, before her eyes slipped passed him, and it transformed into one that was all class and business. Ian glanced back in time to see John step out in his own coat, carrying his leather suitcase.

“Good morning, Sir!” chimed Miranda, “I am so very sorry about yesterday. I promise I will not let that happen again.”

Ian didn't let John get a single word in before he thrust the paper into his personal space. John took it, giving Ian a fleeting stern look, and unfolded the paper. Ian returned his attention to Miranda and smiled sincerely, “So, how's David holding up?”

“Fever's down, as of this morning. My sister's keeping an eye on him.”

“That's good,” nodded Ian, “You don't have to work this weekend, do you?”

“Tomorrow night. I'm hoping he'll be feeling much better by then.”

“Me too.”

“Thank you for showing us this, Ms. Williams,” spoke John, moving forward to pass the paperwork back to Miranda. “So long as you have proof like this, we won't have any problems.”

Ian saw a twitch in Miranda's expression, but she held her smile in a very believable way as she spoke, “Thank you so much, for understanding.”

“Well, you two better get going,” suggested Ian with a nod towards the car.

Miranda sent Ian one last look of gratitude before speaking her goodbyes and heading back to the car. Both men watched the car drive away before speaking.

“Feel better now?” asked Ian.

“Don't be smug,” dismissed John.

Ian looked at his husband, a bit tiredly, and nodded, “Sorry.”

“Well, anyways,” breathed John, “We should probably head out, too. You want to carpool?”

“Uh, I would, but I'm picking Liam up before you'll get home. Lip asked me to bring him early.”

“What's he got going on?”

Ian took a silent breath as he prepared the story he had concluded earlier in the week would be the best.

“Oh, didn't I tell you? Gallagher party,” smirked Ian, “We gotta go on a beer run beforehand and pick up some food, since I guess it's supposed to be pretty crowded. I'm probably going to be there late, just so you know. Unless you wanna come with me?”

John spat out a laugh and returned, “No thank you. Not my kind of scene.”

Triumphant music blared in Ian's head and he tried not to let his victory show on the surface, as it worked just as he hoped he would. He cleared his throat, in attempt to stomp down the excitement, and questioned, “What're your plans tonight?”

“Well, if you're going to be out late, maybe I'll call up Nate and see if he wants to go out.”

“That's a good idea,” nodded Ian, suddenly feeling that much more pleased.

Nate loved clubs, and usually kept John out as late as he could. All Ian could think about was the extra time that this added onto his hangout with Mickey.

 

**

The day passed by in such a blur that Mickey felt out of his element. He second checked everything before he left work, and constantly checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. Before he knew it he was just standing in the space between his living room and kitchen with his arms crossed, scanning every inch of his place with flickering judgment. He hadn't exactly entertained anyone in his place in quite a while, so he hadn't really felt the need to add much to the minimalist set up. Now he was nervous about Ian's opinion.

With a sharp sigh he mumbled to himself, “The fuck ever.”

He strolled back to the bedroom and made sure everything was put away; his bedroom had never been so clean. Then he checked the bathroom, before heading to the kitchen where he opened the cupboard below the sink. He found a bottle of febreeze that he hadn't used in a lot of months and proceeded to waltz through the house, spraying it on every inch of fabric he could find. He soon counteracted this, though, by sitting at his kitchen table and smoking the first of a few repetitious cigarettes to shut his nerves up.

Mickey decided a beer was a good idea and plucked one from the six-pack he had bought earlier. Tossing the cap on the counter he returned to his seat at the table and resisted running his hand through his styled hair. He instead fidgeted by rolling up the sleeves of his dark blue button-up and sipping his beer a dozen times in a row.

When his phone started ringing suddenly he nearly jumped out of his skin and quick-draw-style snatched it from the table.

“Yo, what's up,” he managed to answer calmly.

“Hey, Mick,” returned Ian, “Just dropped Liam off and I'm about to head your way—should be about a half hour.”

“Alright, cool, I'll go ahead and order pizza in a bit then. Any requests?”

“As much meat as you can pile on that motherfucker, I'm starving.”

Mickey chuckled, “Sounds good to me. There's a place a couple blocks down that never disappoints.”

“Mmm, I'm so ready,” groaned Ian, “Cross your fingers that traffic doesn't suck ass.”

“Yeah fuckin' right,” scoffed Mickey.

Ian laughed. “I'll see ya soon?”

“Yeah, see ya soon,” echoed Mickey with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was just a quick gap-filling update! I hope there were still some enjoyable moments :) I'm already working on the next one and it's going to be pretty big, so it might take a minute.


	12. I Wanna Skin You With My Tongue

Mickey was at the bottom of his second beer by the time a familiar buzz sounded throughout his apartment. He cleared his throat as he moved to the small, stained, intercom.

“Yeah?” he said into it.

“Hey, it's, uh, me,” returned Ian through fuzzy static.

Mickey smiled and pressed the button to unlock the door on the bottom floor. He felt like ants were crawling up his legs as he waited for Ian, so he opened his front door to watch for him. The sounds of someone climbing the stairs had him leaning out enough to see Ian the second he appeared; climbing the stairs two at a time.

He grinned at Mickey and nodded his head in silent greeting as he moved towards his apartment. Mickey barely had time to look over Ian and his work day suit that he was still wearing, before the redhead was capturing him with a shockingly heated kiss, locking his hand against Mickey's jaw as if it was always meant to be there.

Mickey couldn't stop himself from grinning, and swore he nearly choked on his heart when he felt Ian smiling in return. He let out a breath and relaxed his mouth to return it to Ian's with the same level of heat as the first kiss. Ian instantly met his depth and pressure, offering his tongue in a smooth movement that had Mickey wrapping his hand around the back of Ian's head and pulling him in deeper to stroke it fully with his own.

Ian groaned deeply and Mickey guided them back fully into the apartment, practically throwing the door shut behind Ian. He pressed the tall man against the door, moving one of his hands to Ian's chest as he indulged in the bottomless sea that he couldn't stop diving deeper and deeper into. But, as Ian's hands moved down Mickey's body in exploration, he felt amusement bubbling up his throat and came up for air. He chuckled against Ian's mouth, simultaneously realizing he was a bit out of breath.

“Fuckin' told ya you were just excited because you thought we were gonna bang the second you stepped into the place,” teased Mickey, pulling away enough to see Ian's red face caked in a grin, “You didn't even make it inside right away.”

Ian laughed—practically _giggled_ —as he bashfully looked to the floor.

“I, uh, was waiting to do that all day, so the second I saw you...” Ian finished his words with a shrug and a quick jump of his brows.

Mickey laughed and stepped away. “Well, how bout you take your coat off and all that shit before you try to jump my bones again, huh?”

Ian gave him a cheeky smile and pulled his coat off to hang beside Mickey's on the hooks by the door.

“Want a beer?” asked Mickey.

“Sounds good, thanks.”

Mickey was tempted to bury himself in the fridge for a moment when he opened it up, as the thrill of kissing Ian had not yet died down. He hooked his fingers around two bottles and pulled them out, pausing at the counter to pop the caps off of both.

Ian's gaze may as well have had a laser attached as he looked around every inch of the living areas with obvious intrigue.

“It's not much,” said Mickey as he passed one of the bottles off to Ian. “Haven't really decorated or whatever.”

“I still like it,” smiled Ian with a wink.

Mickey nodded, covering his smile a bit as he touched his bottom lip with the side of his thumb. He decided sitting would maybe make him feel a little grounded and returned to the seat he had been anxiously waiting in for the last hour. Ian promptly joined in the next chair over and questioned, “So, how long you been here?”

“Just a few months,” answered Mickey, “I always prioritized my student loans before livin' in a decent place. So, it was kinda a big deal I was able to move in here.”

“Yeah, that must've felt like an accomplishment.”

“No shit. I lived in a total rat hole for two years before this place. Studio apartment in the middle of fuckin' the loudest, roughest, neighborhood this side of town.”

“I'm sure it wasn't hard to acclimate there,” joked Ian.

Mickey chuckled, “Yeah, felt right at home.”

Mickey reached for his cigarettes, slipping two out to toss one Ian's way. Again, this felt so normal, as Mickey lit his cigarette before passing the lighter off to Ian. He could get very used to sharing everything with the redhead.

“I've tried to keep my nose clean, though, since I got into school. Didn't wanna fuck anything up, ya know?”

Ian nodded, drawing a drag from his smoke, before he said, “I get that. It's really hard sometimes, though, when you're surrounded by assholes asking for a southside beat down.”

Mickey snorted and agreed through a laugh.

“Must've been harder for you to _acclimate_ ,” mused Mickey, “Don't know if I could survive in those snobby circles.”

“I dunno, you seem to be able to handle yourself well,” returned Ian with a tilt of his head, “Albert Sanders seems to think so, anyways.”

“Ah, he's not as much of a snob as you'd think,” dismissed Mickey, reaching over to tap the ash from his cigarette into his over-sized glass ashtray, “He, uh, offered me a job, by the way.”

“He did?”

“Mhm. Said not to tell John.”

Ian let out a huff of understanding and asked, “What's the job?”

“He said once the software is done at Woods to get in touch with him, because they want to continue branching their software options, or somethin'. I guess I'll find out the exact position later.”

“You should take it,” insisted Ian.

Mickey smirked, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you deserve way better than Woods Tech,” explained Ian, “If Albert really isn't trying to get into your pants, anymore, I mean.”

“Would that be a deal breaker for you? If I had to fuck him?”

Ian leaned back in his chair and looked into Mickey's eyes for a moment. He suddenly raised a brow and let out a laugh, “You testing my possessiveness, Mick?”

Mickey shrugged, “Just curious what'd you say.”

“Mhm,” hummed Ian skeptically, before he paused again to take a drink of his beer. “It's your life, you do what you want. But, yeah, for the record I would really fucking hate that.”

Mickey swarmed with a warm feeling and nodded, “Well, I already asked him and he said there'd be none of that shit.”

“Then you should _definitely_ take it,” smiled Ian, stretching one of his long legs out to playfully nudge Mickey's knee. Mickey smiled at the gesture and reached for his beer. He kept his eyes on Ian as he took one long drink from his beer and felt those persistent butterflies refill his stomach as Ian watched him just as closely.

“So, uh, what movies did you get?” asked Mickey, nodding to the two red dvd cases he noticed on the table.

“One action, one comedy,” answered Ian, “Thought I'd bring some variety. Not sure what you're into.”

“Both,” noted Mickey as he reached across the table to snag the discs. He read the titles out loud and then added, “But, we're definitely watching this one.”

He slid his choice over to Ian, who smirked at the sight.

“Had a feeling you'd be into the one with the big explosions and car chases.”

“The fuck's that mean?” grinned Mickey, “I'll bet you could never guess my favorite movie.”

“Hm, I wanna say Die Hard or Pulp Fiction, but given what you said...” Ian trailed off, obviously putting real thought into it. “Titanic?”

Mickey burst out laughing, and Ian joined in.

“No,” answered Mickey through his calming laughter, “The Breakfast Club.”

“Ah, did John Bender do it for ya?” questioned Ian with a clever smile.

“Relatable, but nah, I obviously prefer the pretty boys,” corrected Mickey with a mirroring smirk, which only made Ian's turn into a bright grin. “Andrew on the other hand...”

“Of course,” laughed Ian, “I should've realized.”

Mickey watched closely as Ian set his cigarette in the ashtray to shuck off his suit jacket. He was unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt when he looked up and noticed Mickey's gaze, seemingly making him give Mickey that confident smirk that had heat pooling in his loins.

“Didn't even get to change, huh?” observed Mickey, only squirming a little in his seat to ease his sudden flickering arousal.

“Nope,” chirped Ian, “I wanted to get here as quickly as possible.”

“Weren't lyin' about being hungry, were you?”

It grew quiet for a moment as the two of them stared at each other knowingly. Ian's foot then returned to Mickey's leg, this time slipping along his ankle in a similar way it had at the restaurant last week. Mickey glanced down at it and licked his lips.

“Maybe we should start that movie,” he suggested somewhat quietly, as if the movie would be acting as a timer. If it _was_ a countdown, he certainly needed it to start, as soon as possible.

Mickey snatched up the movie again and headed into the living room. Ian settled on the couch as he popped in the disk and set the tv up. He was pleased to find Ian holding both of their beers when he dropped onto the couch beside him.

Mickey leaned forward to put his cigarette out in the ashtray on his coffee table and snatch up the dvd remote. When he settled, slouching more into the couch, he found Ian holding out his beer.

“Thanks,” said Mickey as he gently took it, curious of the way Ian was steadily watching every move he made. He swallowed down the nervousness it made him feel and questioned, “You seen this one yet?”

“Nope,” answered Ian softly, “Heard good things, though.”

“Yeah, I haven't either,” said Mickey as he forced his eyes to return to the tv.

He might not see it, now, either, he considered as even with his eyes on the television he was just seeing Ian in his mind's eye.

They settled into a comfortable silence as the movie began, but barely made it past the opening credits before his intercom was making noise again. Mickey paused the movie and hopped up to let the delivery person into the building. As he waited for the person to climb the stairs he grabbed cash out of his wallet and opened his door.

“Hey, Mickey,” greeted the pizza guy with a nod.

“What's up,” murmured Mickey as he handed the money over to him. He watched the kid's eyes wander over to Ian on the couch and his smile spread, which only heightened the nervousness Mickey was stuck swarming in. “Keep the change.”

“Alright, thanks, man,” he returned to Mickey, passing the large pizza box over, with a smaller one balancing on top of it. Mickey gave the kid a quick nod in way of saying goodbye and shut the door. Ian immediately spoke.

“I see you're a regular customer, huh?” teased Ian.

“Fuck off,” huffed Mickey, with a flush to his face, “Too tired to cook most nights after work.”

“You cook?” asked Ian with genuine shock.

Mickey set the boxes down on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen for two plates and some paper towels. As he dropped back into the his place beside Ian he returned, “Uh, yeah, man. I've been on my own for over six years. It's way cheaper to cook your own food, ya know. Had to make myself really learn.”

“I'm impressed.”

“Yeah? I should make you my roast,” smiled Mickey, “It'll knock your fuckin' socks off, man.”

Ian chuckled, “I'd love that. Maybe next time?”

“Sure, whenever.”

Ian grinned meaningfully at him before reaching out to inspect the smaller box, which held an extra cheesy cheese-bread with a side of marinara. Ian groaned at the sight and pulled off a couple of pieces to put on his assigned plate. He then passed the smaller box to Mickey, speaking, “Liam and I eat a lot of takeout. We don't really live in a home-cooked-meal-atmosphere, ya know.”

“Yeah, and you can obviously afford it,” nodded Mickey as he made a small pile of slices of cheese-bread on his plate.

Ian agreed with a tired look and took the smaller box from Mickey to place it on the end of the coffee table. He then opened the large box to reveal a large tavern style pizza covered in a variety of meats. He groaned even louder at the sight of these contents and Mickey smiled widely.

“Shit, this looks amazing,” spoke Ian as he reached out to the pizza, but then he froze. Mickey watched with minor concern as Ian gradually retracted his hand and turned to look at him. And then he asked.

“Middle or edge piece?” inquired Ian, squinting curiously at Mickey.

He smiled again, snorting a bit in amusement, and stared at those lowered red lashes as if this was some sort of important test he needed to pass. Slowly, he answered, “I like the edge pieces.”

Ian's face suddenly lit up and Mickey laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Perfect! I'm all about the center pieces,” said Ian happily.

“You're a fuckin' dork, man, for real,” teased Mickey.

Ian scrunched his nose at him playfully before leaning forward to pile three pieces from the center of the pizza onto his plate, licking the sauce and grease from his fingers as he sat back.

Mickey smiled to himself as he snatched the pieces he wanted, thinking that this sweet, playful, side of Ian might be his favorite. He walked around with so much confidence and stillness, and in the moments he thought no one was looking there were so many haunted shadows on his face. So, witnessing this sweeter version of Ian was most curious to Mickey. As if, no matter what the man had gone through, there was an innocent and endlessly hopeful young piece of him that had survived it all. He wanted to draw it out more.

They ate their pizza in content silence. And actually watched the movie, with Ian murmuring comments throughout it. Mickey didn't mind, though, as he never interrupted anything important, and he agreed with most everything Ian had to say about it.

They stacked their empty plates together on the table and Mickey held the ashtray on his leg as they smoked satisfying cigarettes to sooth the bloat of just how much food they had inhaled. Mickey realized how steadily he smiled throughout it all, as they made little jokes to one another, slouching closely on the couch, like they both were in their most comfortable state.

“Hey, can we pause it real quick?” asked Ian at one point, “Gotta take a piss.”

Mickey paused the movie and said, “On the left, end of the hall.”

He watched Ian stroll down the hall and decided to clean up a bit. He rinsed the plates and tossed them into the dishwasher, then managed to squeeze the remnants of the pizza into the fridge. He heard the toilet flush and grabbed another two beers, but only opened one as he waited for Ian to return. And waited. And waited. He was genuinely becoming worried as time ticked on.

Given he had heard the toilet flush Mickey moved down the hall to investigate. He immediately noticed Ian's shadow in his bedroom and rolled his eyes with a quiet laugh. He leaned into the doorway, finding Ian standing near the edge of the bed, just looking around the room.

“Did you actually have to pee, or were you just pretending so you could come down here?”

Ian spun around with a guilty smile and said, “Sorry, I was leaving the bathroom and couldn't help taking a peek.”

“You're a bold fucker, just strollin' into my bedroom without an invitation,” smirked Mickey.

“More like a curious cat,” corrected Ian with a hopeful grin.

Mickey laughed and shook his head, “Well, not much to it. Computer desk, bed, dresser, nightstands. You've seen it all now.”

“Ah, finally, the tour I've been waiting for,” returned Ian sarcastically.

Mickey lifted both of his middle fingers from the bottles he was holding and raised his hands a bit more in the air. Ian only smiled wider.

“That for me?” asked Ian with a quick point.

“The fingers? Yeah.”

“The fucking beer, ya dick,” laughed Ian as he moved closer, reaching for the unopened one.

Mickey watched Ian twist the cap off and turn to look around the room more time, even as he went on to take a swig of the drink.

“Tryin' to memorize it or somethin'?” asked Mickey confusedly.

Ian turned back to him with another smile and then he leaned closer into Mickey's breathing space.

“Maybe. It'll help my imagination the next time we have a _good_ phone call.”

Mickey's lips twitched to the side and he looked away from Ian's enthusiastic eyes.

“Thought you were like insisting on video calling next time,” he murmured before taking a nervous gulp from his beer.

“Well, what I'd really like is to see it in person,” returned Ian lowly, jerking Mickey's gaze right back to him. Ian's eyes were working their way down Mickey's body, stirring excited arousal all over him.

“How bout you take my beer and go back to the couch, so I can take a piss,” suggested Mickey, making Ian immediately frown and look to him with a disappointed expression. “Let's just finish the movie and let the pizza digest a little more first, alright?”

Ian sighed dramatically and Mickey laughed, “Chill out, Gallagher.”

He held his beer out and watched as Ian took the beer in a defeated speed. Mickey smirked as he turned towards the bathroom, but only made it one step before Ian was wrapping an arm around him. Mickey nearly knocked the beer from Ian's hand as he was pulled tightly into Ian's body.

“Why you draggin' this out, Mick? You teasing me for a reason?”

Mickey turned enough in Ian's hold to look back at him and grinned, “Yeah. Just fuckin' look at how you are, now. Can't imagine how eager and horny you're gonna be in a half hour.”

Ian looked both surprised and more turned on, so much so that he barely even moved his lips when Mickey leaned in to press a kiss against them. He then shrugged Ian off and moved into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door, and called out, “Also, let's be fuckin' real. The second we go in there, we're not coming back out until you gotta leave.”

He heard Ian chuckling as he flushed the toilet and moved over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Yeah, alright, I get it,” said Ian as he breezed into the doorway to look at Mickey through the mirror with a pleased expression. “Anyhow, we should find out who's behind the bombing in time square.”

“More like how he's going to get out of confinement,” returned Mickey as he dried his hands and turned back to leave.

“Uhh, obviously with some unrealistic big acts, like somehow blowing a hole in the wall with hidden explosives the bad guys just so happen to have overlooked..?”

Mickey laughed and playfully pushed Ian out of the doorway, “Let's go find out.”

Once settled back in on the couch, with the movie continuing, Mickey found it even harder to focus on it, as the anticipation had swelled to a painful size in his gut. There were multiple moments where he found himself looking at Ian, only to find the man glancing back at him with a smile that hadn't left his face since they were in the hall.

Mickey put most of his focus on drinking his beer and smoking a cigarette, and indulging in longer glances at Ian, as his mind continued flickering with possibilities of what they would be doing soon. He thought about skipping the rest of the movie a few times, but it was eye-catching enough when the protagonist began to fight his way through the villain's fortress.

Until Ian unexpectedly scoffed in annoyance, luring Mickey's attention back to him. Ian glanced at him and shook his head as he spoke, “I hate in movies when the big bad dude can recover from tear gas in two seconds. Not how it really is.”

Mickey gave him a look and poked, “Oh yeah? How you know that? Join some kinda riot or somethin'?”

“Nah, basic training.”

“Hold up, you were military?”

“Mm,” nodded Ian, “ROTC throughout high school, then went into the Army.”

Mickey quirked a brow and looked him over with an impressed expression.

“So, you're some kinda tough guy, huh?” smirked Mickey.

Ian slowly smiled and shrugged a bit in reply.

“So, how long was your sentencing?” teased Mickey with a curious lilt.

Ian snorted, “It's not prison, Mick.”

“The fuck it isn't,” huffed Mickey, “It's just a _voluntary_ loss of freedom, man. You might as well have booked a room at Cook County.”

Ian rolled his eyes dramatically. “It's honorable, and worth it.”

“Alright, then why aren't you still in?”

“Didn't make it pass basic.”

“What, you find out you're not as tough as you thought?”

“Screw you,” chuckled Ian, “I got in a little too much trouble. Tried to hot wire a helicopter.”

Mickey swiftly sat up straight, questioning, “Sorry, you did _what_?”

Ian let out another laugh and refocused his eyes on the tv. “Wasn't really in a good mindset at the time, made a lot of mistakes.”

“I thought soldiers got into the whacky drugs during deployment, not basic fuckin' training.”

“Nah, wasn't that,” dismissed Ian vaguely, “So, anyhow, you ever heard anything about the gas chamber training in basic?”

Mickey paused, suspicious of Ian's sudden redirection of the conversation, but caved and sat back again. “No, but it sounds fuckin' lovely.”

Ian laughed, “It was one of the worst and most memorable parts of training. They piled a group of us into this little room and we had to take off our masks to breathe in the CS then _answer a question_ before we could leave.”

“Jesus,” drawled Mickey, “Fuck that.”

“Yeah, it was shitty. And anyhow, I watched this six foot, two-hundred-somethin' pound, beast of a dude drop to his fuckin' knees and puke his guts up. So, this guy here having zero problems fighting in a cloud of it, is bullshit.”

Mickey snickered, “Guess so, man. That must have been a sight.”

“I'll never forget it,” smiled Ian, but there was a shimmer of something in his gaze, something sad. Ian again returned that gaze to the movie, but as Mickey watched his smile struggle to stay sincere he found himself frowning. He desperately wanted to know the root of whatever pain he spied, but Ian obviously wasn't ready to talk about it, so Mickey settled for returning to the movie, too.

He barely made it thirty seconds, though, before he was reaching out to Ian's hand. He felt Ian's gaze on him as their hands locked together warmly, but played it cool and kept his eyes on the tv. Ian soon scooted closer until their arms were pressed together and Mickey had the urge to snuggle into the man completely. He resisted, though, as this was not something he'd really done with anyone. Instead, he stretched his legs out and set his feet on his coffee table, bumping his thigh against Ian's.

Ian echoed this, kicking off his shoes and stretching his much longer legs out onto the table, where he crossed them and tucked them in close to Mickey's. He listened to the redhead let out a long breath of relief and smiled gently.

They were entirely settled in this way for the rest of the movie. Even the big climax of it didn't have them even twitching away from one another, as if it could never hold a candle to the pleasure of their gentle touch, and slow melt into one another.

When the credits started to roll they glanced at one another and Ian pulled away to speak, “Well, that was pretty good.”

“Yeah, I'd watch the sequel.”

“They're making a sequel?”

Mickey nodded, “S'posed to be out next year.”

“We're gonna have to watch that together then.”

Mickey smiled unabashedly at the implications, but glanced back at the clock on the wall to check the time, and asked, “So, when do you gotta leave?”

Ian shrugged a bit, “Told him I was gonna be out late, partying with Lip. He's supposed to be out late, too.”

Mickey nodded and swallowed around the excitement and relief he felt that they would still have _hours_ together. Ian's thumb suddenly began to move in circles on Mickey's skin in an anxious way that had him looking to the strangely vulnerable look on Ian's face.

“I never thought I'd be in a situation like this, you know,” murmured Ian, “It's so strange. I feel like I'm living two completely different lives.”

“I can see how.”

“Yeah, and I've dragged you into the middle of it,” continued Ian tensely, “I'm sorry you gotta deal with it. But, I'm also grateful, because you're the one thing that makes me feel okay. So, thanks for putting up with this shitty situation.”

“Not like I'm not benefiting, too,” offered Mickey.

“Yeah, but I've piled a lot of shit onto your plate, and it'd be a lot easier for you to just walk away from it.”

“It really wouldn't,” argued Mickey honestly, which had Ian looking to him with a devastatingly hopeful expression. “And anyhow, thanking me is ridiculous. Not like I'm fixing all your problems or somethin'.”

Ian paused. “No, but you're making them a lot more bearable.”

Mickey pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded a bit as he swarmed with a familiar disbelief. How could he ever be good enough to be something so significant for someone? What did he really bring to the table? It was unfathomable that just hanging around someone could be enough to help them hold on to life.

As he felt himself spiraling into an old well of self-loathing he shook the thoughts away and decided it'd be better for both of them if they just stopped thinking for a moment. He locked his eyes onto Ian's and waited a moment before he tugged his head a bit and murmured, “C'mere.”

Ian dove in, as if always in a constant state of waiting for these chances. Perhaps they both were, as this kiss was full of appreciation _and_ desperation. Their hands finally disconnected as they both reached for each other. Ian's hand slid along his jaw, tilting Mickey's head back more in the process, so he could dip deeper into him.

Ian lead the dance for a bit and Mickey left himself open and willing as he accepted the hot wet kisses, realizing he was perfectly okay with being consumed by Ian. In fact, he wasn't sure anything had ever made him feel better about himself then how obviously hungry Ian was for him.

Mickey expressed his sentiments in a silent way as hie wrapped a hand around him and began to pull him closer and closer, until they were falling back on the couch. Mickey managed to pull his right leg up on the couch under Ian while he let the other dangle off onto the floor. Ian shifted and pressed his weight in tight onto Mickey as their tongues clashed and tangled.

There was always a sweetness to Ian's taste, regardless of what he'd recently consumed, and Mickey wondered if it was his pheromones playing tricks on his senses. Not that it really mattered to him, he just knew that it always made him want more.

As Mickey tilted his head to the side and kissed Ian as widely as possible, slipping his tongue across his bottom lip, he rolled his body up against Ian's with need. Ian grunted gently into him and returned the motion by grinding his waist into Mickey's.

Mickey's hand quickly dropped to the bottom of Ian's back and grabbed a handful of his dress shirt to pull it out of Ian's pants, so he could slide his hand along his skin. Ian reacted to the touch by lifting himself off of Mickey and untucking the shirt in the front, as well.

Mickey detached their mouths to murmur, “Yeah, get this fuckin' shirt off.”

Ian returned a breathy laugh before continuing to kiss Mickey while his fingers worked to quickly unbutton enough of it that he could just yank the whole thing off over his head. Mickey's eyes skimmed over the exposed skin in the quick moment and he felt a wave of excited shock move through him, that he was actually getting to see and touch the body he had been looking at nightly via photos in his phone. He could hardly believe this was reality. _His_ reality.

Their kisses grew faster and more assertive as Mickey's hands happily wandered Ian's torso with endless appreciation. They passed so much time this way and Mickey almost couldn't believe he hadn't grown impatient or tired of it. He'd never spent so much time just making out with someone, without just skipping to sex. Even when Ian shifted, putting most of his weight on the arm he squeezed between Mickey and the back of the couch, his other hand just slowly moved across Mickey's torso in a curious way. And when he unbuttoned Mickey's shirt, it seemed to just be to favorably touch his skin.

Ian let forth a sound into Mickey before he pulled away to softly speak, “You're really soft, Mickey.”

Mickey let out an embarrassed laugh and licked his used lips. “Whatever, man.”

“You are,” pressed Ian as his hand slid down Mickey's side, spreading his shirt open more. “Like silky soft.”

Mickey's face heated more and more at the praise, until he was pulling Ian back in to another kiss to smother it. But, Ian pulled away enough to laugh on his lips. “And cute.”

“Shut up,” murmured Mickey, pulling on Ian's head harder to get him back on his lips.

Ian was grinning against Mickey's lips when he returned, and Mickey couldn't help smiling in return for a quick moment.

When they kissed again Mickey found his bashfulness mixed with the heat into something that made his stomach dance happily. It fueled him to kiss Ian with extra enthusiasm, which sent it firing off into the rest of his body. And he wondered if he'd ever felt that in such an intense way before. His highs with Ian only seemed to become more intense each time he got more from the man. He'd be an addict until the end of his days.

As his fingertips slid down the shortest part of Ian's hair to the back of his neck he found himself grinding up into Ian's hip, which seemed to encourage Ian's hand down from his side to the top of his jeans. Ian curled his fingers under the top of Mickey's pants and seemed to tease him as he began to softly slide them back and forth. Mickey's arousal twitched in response and he ground up against Ian once again with a pleading motion.

Ian sent a pleased sound into Mickey's mouth that tapered off loudly as he dipped his tongue into Mickey's mouth. Mickey's tongue chased it all the way out of his own mouth, before he found himself sucking Ian's bottom lip into his mouth. He sucked hard on it as his hands slipped down between them and unbuckled Ian's belt. Ian pulled his own hand away until Mickey finished sliding Ian's belt out of the loops and tossed it aside.

He was in no state of mind to tease Ian as he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants for access to what he desired. Ian let out a heavy, hot, breath on him as Mickey's hand pushed inside his pants to grasp him over the soft cotton fabric he felt.

Ian kissed the life right out of Mickey, stuttering his thought process momentarily, before he chased it—matched it. He began to move his hand on Ian, who rolled his hips right into the touch. And then his hand returned to Mickey's pants and he returned the favor, opening up Mickey's pants to work his hand inside.

Mickey groaned and lifted his hips greedily as Ian pressed his hand into him. Their kisses were almost violent and suffocating as they both rutted against each other's hands for a while. Until Mickey felt he would lose his mind. He pulled his mouth away, gasping in needed air, and spoke, “Let's take this shit to the bedroom.”

Ian stood at lightning speed and reached a hand out to help Mickey up, and to pull him into another kiss once he was on his feet. Mickey smiled through it and began to push Ian back and around the couch.

They separated and looked to each other with equally fiery gazes as they moved towards the hall, but only made it that far before Ian was roughly pressing Mickey into the hallway wall. Mickey grinned up at him as Ian took hold of his shirt and yanked it off of his arms, letting it fall away to the floor. He then dove down to kiss the side of Mickey's neck in such a passionate way that Mickey shut his eyes and murmured swears. Ian wrapped his hands around the bottom of Mickey's back and held tight as he went on to grind himself into Mickey. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the electric feeling this elicited.

He pushed Ian away and they were moving again, but as Ian looked to him with that smirk he loved, he was pulling Ian into another kiss. They clumsily made their way down the rest of the hallway then, knocking into the walls, laughing into each other's mouths, and grasping at each other's bodies.

Mickey lifted foot by foot, removing his socks, and Ian separated to look down at what he was doing. They were again grinning at each other as Ian did the same, before pushing his pants down. Mickey followed suit, removing his pants, as well. His stomach flipped aggressively as Ian immediately eyed his arousal with a sincere fire. He yanked Mickey back into his body and dipped his head to kiss Mickey's shoulder before his tongue snaked out and moved all the way up the side of his neck. Mickey groaned and pushed Ian towards the bed. They climbed up the bed together, all the way to the pillows, where they settled and began to fervently kiss once again.

Mickey began to steadily grind into Ian until they were chasing release through the thin fabrics of their underwear. It was right when he felt himself starting to tense, an orgasm building deep inside, that Ian flipped them over and detached their mouths.

Mickey's fingers went into his red hair as Ian kissed his neck again, as if the taste of it was impossible to stay away from. Mickey shut his eyes and tilted his head back on the pillow below him, indulging and memorizing the way Ian's lips felt on his skin as he worked his way down to Mickey's collarbone. This sensitive spot had him squirming with need, and pulling in a calming breath.

Ian continued his way down, taking his time, but not losing an ounce of passion in his expressions. Mickey grasped his hair a bit more when Ian reached the bottom of his ribs, veering off to his side a bit. He opened his eyes to look down and swore he'd fantasized about every thing he saw in this moment for half of his life, long before Ian had even popped into his life.

When Ian reached the top of his boxers his tongue pressed out to move in a slow movement across his skin just above it. Mickey sucked in a sharp breath as Ian lifted his eyes up to him and smiled while he curled his fingers into his boxers to pull them down. This was an image he never wanted to forget, he considered before lifting his legs to help Ian remove them.

Ian pulled in an audible breath through a smile as he eyed Mickey's erection with wide, hungry, eyes, sliding back up until he was hovering over it. The anticipation nearly gave Mickey a cardiac event , which only made him want to fire out demands at the man. But, then Ian dipped down to his left hip instead, which had Mickey swearing aloud.

Ian lifted his lashes to look at him once more with a pleased expression that nearly did him in. Mickey swallowed very roughly as he watched Ian kiss his way down his thigh a bit, before transferring to his other thigh, kissing up it in an opposite way. Ian waltzed his lips across his pelvis, down the insides of his thighs, everywhere but the spot that needed attention the most, until Mickey felt almost dizzy. This only made it that much more rewarding when Ian finally wrapped his lips around his desperate erection. Mickey gasped, throwing his head back and tensing exponentially, not even realizing how hard he was gripping Ian's hair now.

Ian hummed happily around him and very slowly took him in, in a smooth motion with his wide tongue pressing in tight against him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Mickey breathlessly spat, unsure if he could survive this moment.

Truly, he didn't stand a chance. Not after all the build up, the foreplay, the teasing; he was more aroused than he could ever remember being. And when Ian began to suck on him, gradually beginning to bob himself up and down his shaft with more and more speed and pressure, Mickey felt his orgasm creeping forward. He murmured warning to Ian, but this only seemed to encourage the man more, who went on to slip a hand down to fondle his testicles until Mickey was abruptly coming into his mouth. Mickey barely fought an exclamation down to a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he released Ian's hair to grab onto his blankets roughly.

His head fell back onto his pillow as he shut his eyes once more, savoring the way his body happily sang through the bliss. He groaned softly and quietly hissed, “Christ, Gallagher.”

Ian let out a deep laugh before his lips returned to Mickey's skin. He gently kissed his way up Mickey's tummy, weaving back and forth across his ribs and chest, all the way until he reached the nape of Mickey's neck.

Mickey slipped his hands onto Ian's back and released a long sigh of content through his nose. Ian's lips continued their warm stamps up Mickey's neck, until he was dragging his bottom lip up Mickey's earlobe.

“Wish I could make you come in my mouth a hundred times,” whispered Ian directly into his ear. Mickey's brows shot up as this unbelievably stirred arousal from his loins straight to his dick. This feeling repeated as Ian added, “Turn over for me.”

Mickey happily and mindlessly followed the command and rolled onto his stomach, wrapping an arm around his pillow and only snuggling into it _a little_ bit. Ian's big warm hands suddenly spread out onto his back and moved up in a motion that had Mickey groaning loudly into the pillow. He'd definitely never had anyone massage him after coming before. He was on cloud nine.

Ian applied more pressure to Mickey's muscles as he clearly sat up more, and Mickey felt the redhead's erection slip across his thigh in the process, which only made him smirk a bit.

He began to kiss Mickey's back then, in a mirroring way that he had to the front of his torso. He opened his mouth more the further he reached, starting from his shoulder blade all the way down to the top of his ass. Again, Mickey's arousal twitched in anticipation of what he was certain was coming next. Both of Ian's hands grasped onto Mickey's ass and massaged a bit before spreading him out enough that Ian's tongue could press fully against his center, dragging up slowly in a way that made Mickey release a long hiss.

Ian's hands continued massaging while his skillful tongue spent enough time circling and lapping at him that he was wet with spit. Mickey gripped onto his pillow as he felt Ian's tongue dip in the first time, and he uncontrollably pushed back on it. It seemed like Ian already knew his body so well as Mickey realized how hard he already was again. And when Ian's tongue found a steady rhythm of pushing in and out of him he noticed he was grinding into the bed bellow.

Mickey pushed himself up on his forearm and reached over to the nightstand, yanking the drawer open. Ian pulled away and leaned over him to obviously look into the drawer. Mickey fished out three bottles of lube, until finding the one best suited for what was about to happen with Ian's impressive size.

“Amazing variety,” teased Ian.

Mickey chuckled and looked back at him as he tossed the lube to the bed beside his hip. He watched Ian look the lube over, smirking like a cat, before he spoke, “You're gonna have to get the fuck in me, like, now, before I come again.”

Ian's feline expression continued as he removed the boxer briefs he was wearing and raised his gaze to him as he opened the lube. Mickey rolled his eyes playfully, knowing the redhead was certainly feeling smug as hell.

Mickey could only manage to watch long enough for Ian to lube up his fingers and circle them against his entrance before his head was bowing into the pillow. He groaned pleasantly when Ian pushed his first long finger in. Mickey hadn't thought he could love those fingers anymore than he already did, but when the second finger joined he thought he might start a new religion to worship them the way they deserved.

Ian's lips were then pressing against the bottom of Mickey's back repeatedly, again, as he steadily fucked him with his holy fingers, scissoring, and twisting occasionally to brush his prostate. By the time a third finger was in working with the others Mickey was lifting his hips to push back on them, which made Ian moan against his skin, and kiss his back with the insides of his lips and tongue.

“Do you want me to get a condom?” asked Ian quietly, breathlessly.

Mickey shook his head several time before bowing it back into the bed, his need and anticipation was so painful he couldn't speak if he wanted to. His heart fluttered when Ian's fingers left him, practically screaming the announcement for what was coming next.

Ian's lips returned to Mickey's back, traveling up in his shoulder blade, leaving wet, hot, spots in their wake. His arm tucked under his waist, sparking Mickey to lift his ass well before Ian's arm even attempted to lift him.

Mickey bit his lip when he heard the cap to his lube popping open again. Ian continued kissing his skin, but became more and more passionate with the expressions as he reached the base of Mickey's neck, draping his chest down across him. That's when Mickey felt Ian press himself inside of him carefully, slightly.

Ian arm still wrapped around his waist shifted move and he began to stroke him, slowly and thoroughly, as he worked his way in deeper and deeper. Mickey grasped a tight handful of his blankets as the pressure became momentarily overwhelming, although, Ian's quickening hand on his cock pulled pleasure through him, which made the pressure sing pleasantly to Mickey. He uncontrollably smiled, lifting his head to look back enough to see Ian still diligently kissing his shoulder in his peripherals. Ian paused his kisses and clearly returned the smile as his eyes fell on Mickey's. He suddenly gave him one more deep thrust, harder than any had been yet, and stopped as he was as deep as he could be.

“Fuck,” rasped Mickey, his eyes shutting again as they went into a still moment of adjustment and appreciation. Ian let out a hot breath on Mickey's neck before pressing a kiss below his ear that ended with his tongue snaking out along the edge of his ear.

Ian then began to move again and Mickey lifted his left arm to reach back for a handful of Ian's beautiful hair. Ian let forth a meaningful moan and started stroking Mickey again with a matching pace of his steady, but slow, thrusts.

“You feel fucking amazing, Mick,” murmured Ian with an accompanying harsh breath.

A bolt of pleasure shot through Mickey at the sound of Ian's voice, and had him reaching down to stop Ian's hand from moving on his dick. Ian let out a knowing sound that was nearly a growl and instead slithered his hand, slicked with lube and precum, up his tummy to his chest as he began to thrust a little faster. Mickey's mind fogged over in a way he had been chasing his entire life as Ian maintained a steady rhythm that had him moving deep inside with more and more ease.

Mickey lifted his left arm again, this time to press his palm flat against the wall, locking him in place on the bed to meet each thrust with utter acceptance. He listened to Ian swear sharply against his shoulder and let out a wildly shaky breath.

“Gonna give in already, Firecrotch?”

“No,” breathed Ian loudly, his thrusts seemingly picking up speed in defense, “Don't want this shit to ever end.”

Mickey smiled again and found his breathing becoming louder as a warm stimulation dipped through his limbs. He lowered his head again and indulged in the way it felt, letting his mind empty of everything but his growing pleasure.

Ian's hands began to roam Mickey's skin with attentive pressure, as if he wanted to reach inside of Mickey in every way he could. As his slender fingers passed over the the inside of one of Mickey's hips, the dark haired man moaned and pushed back more. He then felt Ian lift his weight away from his body and he grasped onto that hip with intent before he began to thrust harder.

Mickey released a loud groan and braced himself more against the wall as spiderweb lightning flickered throughout his whole body. This only encouraged Ian to plunge into him harder and faster, until Mickey was grunting out, “Fuck, that's so good...”

Ian reached his other hand out to Mickey's shoulder and he was so lost in his bliss and the sounds of Ian's rapid breathing that he didn't immediately realize it was tugging on him. Ian moved him, until Mickey had both palms pressed into the wall a foot higher, and he really had to brace his arms to stay up. Ian's depth had faltered during this change, but the second he was properly placed again he took hold of both of Mickey's hips and really began to pound into him.

In this position, Ian was lined up perfectly to hit the spot that had Mickey seeing fireworks and moaning boisterously. He curled his fingertips against the wall as he felt a bomb of intense pleasure in his loins growing rapidly, ready for detonation.

“Holy shit,” gasped Mickey harshly, “Ian, holy fu—“

His words broke off into a heavy groan that moved throughout the air with Ian's own moaning. They sounded like the most perfect symphony Mickey could imagine. The sounds of their bodies slamming together, the impassioned moaning, the way Ian was brokenly murmuring his name through his endless shallow breathing. The melody of it all beckoned Mickey's orgasm to a teetering state that left him feeling hysterically elated.

“Fuck, I'm gonna come,” exclaimed Ian suddenly.

His right hand swiftly slipped across Mickey's skin back to his hypersensitive cock, and he hardly had to touch it for Mickey's release to barrel forward desperately and explosively. Ian wrapped his other arm tightly around Mickey as they came together, rocking back and forth a bit. Mickey put his hand over the one clutching onto his side and grasped it tightly for grounding as they grunted and shuddered violently through the pleasure in what felt like an infinite moment.

Mickey returned to reality when Ian's head dropped down onto his shoulder, and they proceeded to pass another moment with unsteady breathing before they very gradually separated. They both seemed to drop down onto the bed like exhausted rocks.

Mickey turned onto his back and looked to Ian curiously. He smiled brightly at Mickey and rolled onto his side to face him, taking one long steady breath.

“Holy fuck,” whispered Ian, before suddenly leaning in to kiss Mickey warmly.

Mickey let out a gentle laugh when the redhead pulled away, “Yeah, that was fuckin' good.”

“I can't believe I lasted,” admitted Ian, which had Mickey laughing thoroughly. Ian joined him in laughing while he rolled onto his back and stretched his long limbs out. “I'm fucking serious. I almost came the second I pushed inside of you.”

Mickey's tummy fluttered happily and he turned a bit to his right, finding enough strength to check the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, where he found four inside. He managed to push himself up into a slight sitting position and looked down at the mess he'd made all over the blanket below them. He shoved the comforter down a bit, garnering Ian's attention. Mickey held one of the cigarettes out and glowed as he watched the redhead smile at him again.

They smoked in silence for a long while, in which Mickey spent in dizzy reflection. His elation certainly felt worth all the wait.

Ian rolled off of the bed unexpectedly and looked to Mickey with a smile as he pulled a drag from his cigarette, heading for the hall. Mickey watched with a raised brow and let his eyes dip down Ian's body before he disappeared into the bathroom. Not long after he watched Ian wander down the hall towards the living area. Mickey thought he could definitely get used to Ian walking around his apartment nude and proud and beautiful.

When Ian returned to the room he was looking at his phone in his hand.

“Everything alright?” asked Mickey.

“Mhm, was just double checking everything was cool with everyone.”

Mickey frowned, wondering when Ian had last lived a day without checking in on everything he was juggling in his life. He wandered to Mickey's side to put his cigarette out in the ashtray before he flopped back down on the bed with a happy sigh, letting his phone fall to his side. Mickey finished out his cigarette and looked to find Ian steadily smiling at him.

“The fuck you lookin' at?” grinned Mickey.

“You should come over here,” beamed Ian, opening his arms in invitation.

Mickey eyed him for a moment with surprise. Ian tugged his head, opening his arms wider, and Mickey nearly defaulted to saying something like, _“Are you fucking serious,”_ or, _“Fuck off.”_ But, instead he let his happy high guide him right into Ian's warm body and was nothing but glad he did when he settled. He lifted his knee to settle his leg over Ian's and closed his eyes when the redhead's arm wrapped around him securely.

Ian hummed happily and murmured, “This feels good.”

Mickey nodded against him in agreement and let his eyes drift close, wondering if he could possibly stay awake for the rest of the time Ian had left in this visit. Already, he couldn't wait for their next Friday. This thought had Mickey's eyes opening, upon realizing what next Friday actually was. In this moment, likely because of all the happy chemicals swarming him, he had no doubt what he wanted. But, it still took him a silent moment to summon the courage to ask.

“So, um,” began Mickey quietly, “I know you're gonna be with your family on Christmas, but, what'ya doin' for Christmas Eve?”

“Nothing. If you were busy I was just gonna go hang with Lip. Why?”

“Well, ya don't have to go, but Val and Damon invited you to a lil get-together they're having. It's just gonna be a few people, _supposedly_.”

“Wait, really?”

Mickey grunted in return.

“You want me to go?”

“Wouldn't be bringing it up if I didn't, would I?”

Ian's body jumped as a laugh moved through him. “I'd love to go to that, Mick.”

“Yeah? You really don't gotta.”

“No, really, it sounds like fun. And I'll be with you, so.”

Mickey smiled happily and turned his head enough to press a kiss on Ian's skin. Ian stroked his arm softly in response.

“You know, I was, uh, trying to find a way to bring that up, anyhow.”

“What?”

“Christmas Eve,” answered Ian, “John's going to be gone that whole weekend, so, I could actually stay the night with you.”

Mickey's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Especially, as they were currently cuddling and Mickey's body was beckoning him towards a deep sleep, he thought that nothing sounded more amazing.

“Yeah,” said Mickey, “Should definitely do that.”

“Awesome, I'll pack a bag then,” returned Ian happily, “What time's the party?”

“Seven, I think.”

“I could drop Liam off and then come here and pick you up?”

Mickey suddenly yawned, lifting a hand quickly to cover his mouth, but nodded in agreement. Ian ran his fingertips across Mickey's arm and hummed, again, before asking, “Did I wear you out?”

“Mm, obviously,” murmured Mickey as he snuggled his face back into Ian's warm skin, “Pretty fuckin' comfortable, too.”

“Should set an alarm just in case then.”

Mickey nodded sleepily, but felt sleep pulling him in with a sweet, silent, lullaby.

 

*

Mickey awoke in the dark, on his back, and for a moment he miserably thought he'd slept through Ian's departure. But, then there was a hand sliding up his side and lips pressing into his thigh. He quickly looked down to confirm it was Ian and felt his insides come to life at the sight of Ian on his knees towards the end of the bed, looking entirely content as he kissed down Mickey's thighs.

“What'ya doin'?” murmured Mickey sleepily.

Ian lifted his gaze and smiled, “I gotta go soon, so I thought we'd try to end tonight on a really good note.”

Mickey simply furrowed his brows as his tired brain struggled to grasp the situation. He could only think about how good the attention felt. He found himself stretching with a pleased groan as his muscles gradually woke up beneath Ian's lips.

When Ian's hands began to massage Mickey's hips he drew closer to the inside of his thigh and Mickey had to reach down to slither his fingers into Ian's hair to express praise in the only way he could physically manage at the moment. He stroked Ian's hair softly, slipping his fingertips along his scalp, and drew in a steadying breath as Ian reached the inside of his hip which tickled a bit.

He again looked down to watch Ian and loved the way Ian's expression so obviously screamed enjoyment. Like he could spend the rest of his time on earth kissing Mickey's body and die happy.

As if sensing his gaze, Ian looked up at Mickey again and smiled. In the low light of the room, barely illuminated by a streetlight not far from his window, Ian's eyes almost looked grey. They flashed with something enchanting as Ian kept them locked on Mickey's while he slowly moved to his semi-erection. Ian extended his wide tongue and very slowly dragged it along the entire length of him.

Mickey shivered through the bright sensations that raced through him and dropped his other hand to Ian's head, stroking along the side of it. Ian licked him again and closed his eyes as he released a pleasured sound that had another wave of excitement filling Mickey's body.

Mickey laid his head back then and closed his eyes, keeping his fingers deep in Ian's soft hair. Here was yet another thing he'd have no problem getting used to—waking up like this.

His dick was fully erect in no time as Ian continued giving it measured, full, licks like it was his favorite flavored popsicle. When he uncontrollably shuddered through another stream of pleasure, he opened his eyes to look back down at Ian. Just the sight of Ian still fully nude, on his knees with his ass in the air, licking at his cock like he had all the time in the world was enough to have bliss firing into his core, making him grunt brokenly. But, when his eyes landed on Ian's own erection he was aching with lustful need.

Mickey sat up and Ian paused to watch as Mickey looked around for the abandoned bottle of lube. He found it in the folds of the comforter and tossed it down to Ian.

It was truly his new favorite thing in the world as he watched Ian suck the head of his cock into his mouth while he pushed a finger into him. He felt unbelievably lucky in this moment.

But as Ian worked his way up to filling him with three fingers and began to rub his perineum with his thumb Mickey thought Ian might be getting the wrong idea of what he wanted. So, Mickey finally sat up, halting Ian's movements and virtually pushed the fingers out of himself.

Mickey moved Ian silently, until the redhead was sitting back and looking to him with a questioning expression. He ate up the pleasantly surprised expression on Ian's face as he climbed onto his lap with a smile. He kissed him then, in a bit of a sleepy fashion, but with meaningfully languid heat. He mindlessly dragged his lips over Ian's, sucking and extending his tongue to lick them, as he found and opened the lube again to squeeze some onto his hand. Ian's body jerked a bit as Mickey wrapped his hand around his cock. He slicked every inch of it with the lube and reached behind to spread what remained on himself, before wiping his hand on his blankets.

In this position, and given just how relaxed Mickey still felt, Ian entered him with ease. Once fully seated, Mickey pressed his forehead into Ian's as he disconnected their lips to bite down on his bottom one. Ian let out a few sharp breaths against his face and slipped both of his hands up Mickey's back.

Mickey began to move and bit his lip a little harder, as already it all felt so good. Too good. He wrapped both of his arms around Ian as he picked up momentum, pressing his feet into the bed as he found his balance.

He was wholly focused on picking up speed and chasing the pleasure it elicited, but when Ian kissed him hungrily he immediately responded with enthusiasm. They rocked back and forth a bit as they both lost themselves to their passionate kisses. And without realizing Mickey was slamming himself down harder on Ian, who began to grunt into his mouth. Mickey tightened his hold on Ian and focused on the what seemed to be making them both shake with pleasure.

He felt Ian shift below him and pulled his lips away, just in time for Ian to take hold of his hips and begin to thrust up, matching Mickey's movements perfectly. He was panting now as he returned his mouth to Ian's with the need to express just how amazing he felt. And fuck if these two actions mixed together didn't feel otherworldly. Mickey breathed sharply through his nose before releasing a strangled whimper against Ian's lips. He was riding the wind, reaching for the stars.

Mickey leaned back, reaching a hand behind him to push into the bed and felt his heart jump to his throat as they made eye contact. They maintained it for a moment before Ian couldn't seem to resist looking down between them. He watched Ian's expression change to what was similar to a hopeless, painful, look that Mickey knew was made up of nothing but pure overwhelming pleasure.

Mickey released a breathless, desperate, sound and pulled himself up to press his face into Ian's again. “Fuck me,” he urged in a hopelessly lost voice.

Ian's hands tightened on his hips and he then kissed Mickey like he was starving. Mickey grasped a handful of Ian's hair and gripped hard as he suddenly felt like he was falling from a cliff. He gasped, disconnecting their mouths and pleaded louder, “Fuck me, Ian.”

Suddenly, Mickey really was falling, as Ian laid him on his back, instantly kissing him again as he took over the motion, thrusting with small quick movements that had Mickey groaning with satisfaction into his mouth.

He stretched his left leg out on the bed and pulled his right up, close to their heads, to wrap his knee around Ian's shoulder.

“Harder,” panted Mickey against Ian's face, “Fuck me harder, Ian.”

“Oh, fuck,” grunted Ian.

Mickey opened his eyes as he felt Ian's body tensing. He found Ian's eyes shut tight and expression tight and concerned. But, just as he thought it was all over, Ian powered through and spread his hand onto the back of Mickey's right thigh, pressing it down a bit more towards the bed. He then began to slam into him, harder and harder and harder; until Mickey's mind went blank and he was crying out blissfully.

Ian wrapped his mouth around Mickey's, muffling the sounds, and plunged his tongue in deep. Mickey wrapped his lips around it and began to suck hard on it. He draped his left arm around Ian's back and right around his head, hugging him closely as his focus went to the friction of Ian's abs against his cock. He uncontrollably released Ian's tongue as another moan of pleasure surged up his throat.

Ian bowed his head down onto Mickey's shoulder and groaned roughly into his flesh while his sweaty hair bounced and clung to Mickey's neck. Ian's continuous guttural, almost distressed, sounds had Mickey's orgasm slamming into him. He arched his back, losing every ounce of control of himself to the euphoria that encapsulated him. His blunt nails bit down violently into Ian's back as he rode out his orgasm, coming between them like he hadn't had release in an eternity.

Ian was repeating his name over and over like a mantra—like he was barely hanging on. Mickey managed to relax his hands on Ian, shivering aggressively through the final throes of his pleasure. He started pressing kisses against Ian's head before he found a full enough breath to speak lowly, “Gonna come for me, Gallagher?”

That was the last straw for Ian as he slammed into Mickey one last time, and bit down hard on the side of Mickey's neck. Mickey moaned through the strangely pleasurable pain and turned his head to give Ian full access to do his damage. He closed his eyes as he listened to Ian moaning into his skin for nearly the entire time he was coming inside of him.

When he seemed to find completion, Ian's head dropped down onto the bed, forehead first, beside Mickey's and he barely managed to pull out of him before the rest of his body collapsed. Mickey smiled and stroked the back of Ian's head while he stretched his right leg down, relishing the ache in his hip.

“Ending on a really good note, for sure,” chuckled Mickey.

He felt the responding laugh through Ian's body more than he heard it. He soon lifted his head and kissed Mickey. A long moment passed as they held this kiss, as if it was a non-verbal promise; a total agreement of what they had between them, what they felt and would do to maintain it.

When their lips parted Ian kissed Mickey on the forehead and pulled away, rolling to his side. Mickey still felt the kiss on his forehead for a moment longer, which had him smiling as he looked at Ian.

Ian ran his hand over his face a few times, before groaning, “I don't want to leave.”

“At least you won't have to next week, right?”

Ian sent him a gentle look and nodded. “Just sucks we gotta wait another week.”

Mickey laughed and agreed as he climbed out of bed, finding his legs weak and aching. He somehow managed to walk to the bathroom to empty his bladder.

When he returned to the bedroom he found Ian back in his boxer-briefs and socks, smoking one of the remaining cigarettes. He held it out for Mickey, who happily took it, and headed out of the room. Mickey slipped his boxers back on and headed out to the living room, where he found Ian redressed in a sloppier way. He put his shoes on and checked his phone before tucking it in his pocket. Mickey moved over to the table to flick ash off of his cigarette into the glass tray.

And then suddenly it was time for their goodbye and Ian looked opposite to what he had not ten minutes ago in the room. He frowned heavily as he moved to be in front of Mickey.

Mickey clicked his tongue at him and raised the cigarette in offering. Ian took a hit, but then set it in the ashtray. He blew his hit out while he wrapped his hands around Mickey and pulled him in close.

“Thanks for having me over,” spoke Ian quietly.

“Stop lookin' at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a sad puppy,” huffed Mickey, “Not like this is the last time we're gonna hang.”

Ian smiled and nodded, leaning in until their foreheads were touching.

“I just really like it here,” murmured Ian, “I really like you, Mick.”

Mickey couldn't believe how happy those words made him, to the point that he was grinning unashamedly.

“I really like you, too, Ian,” responded Mickey, lifting a hand to cup the side of Ian's face, “And I wish ya didn't have to go, but, you know, it won't always fuckin' be like this, right?”

Ian nodded several time before he kissed Mickey strongly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

Ian made it back to condo to find all the lights off and the place soundless. John's coat was laying on the chair in the foyer, so he knew he was home, and if he wasn't in sight that meant he was asleep. Ian was ridiculously relieved by that. He headed to the bedroom to grab fresh clothes so he could shower and sleep peacefully.

Ian was even quieter than usually as he moved through the dark room to his dresser to grab fresh underwear and pajamas. He didn't even really care what he grabbed as he blindly pulled the clothes out, knowing he was just anxious to lay down and think long loving thoughts of Mickey until he drifted to sleep.

“Hey, you coming to bed?”

Ian froze, his heart jumping, upon realizing he didn't recognize the voice. Cautiously he turned and his eyes went wide at the sight of a stranger in bed beside John, who was still sleeping soundly. The brunette smiled lazily and rubbed his tired eyes.

“I can scooch over,” he added.

“Uhhh, no thank you,” said Ian slowly, “I'm just gonna sleep on the couch.”

“You're the husband, right?” questioned the stranger, as he made himself comfortable again, snuggling into Ian's pillow.

“Yep.”

“Well, there's plenty of room, silly. Join us.”

“No thanks,” pressed Ian, moving towards the door, “Uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” echoed the stranger, just before Ian closed the bedroom door behind him.

He paused for a second, shaking his head, but found a smile growing on his face before he headed for the shower. Hopefully, the brunette wore John out for the weekend.

 


	13. We Wait Through the Hours of Cold

Ian awoke spread out on the couch with his face tucked in to the arm he had stretched above his head. He could hear the sounds of someone cooking in the kitchen, which had his face scrunching in confusion. John never cooked. Not even eggs.

He turned his head to the other side and peeked through his lashes to see the stranger from last night standing over their stove. The surprise at the stranger's continued shameless behavior had him rolling his eyes before closing them again. He'd rather lay there and indulge in the fantasy of waking in Mickey's apartment, to the sounds of the raven haired man making him breakfast instead.

And this worked for a few moments, until the stranger began to hum cheerfully. Ian sighed in annoyance, as he couldn't imagine Mickey doing such a thing, so his fantasy was totally destroyed. Ian reached for his phone to check the time. He needed to take his meds, already, so he forced himself to sit up.

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes he stood and made his way towards the bathroom, catching the stranger's attention in the process. He pretended not to notice as he went in and shut the door behind him. After emptying his bladder, he moved to the sink to fill up the cup he kept on the counter, with water. He swallowed down his pills and lingered in the bathroom, attempting to prepare himself to face the weirdness in the kitchen. Really, there was no way he could face it with anything, but vexation.

“Good morning!” sang the stranger, the very second Ian exited the bathroom. “Did I wake you?”

Ian said nothing as he moved past the man towards the coffee machine. He leaned on the counter as it brewed and let forth a tired groan. He'd barely slept a few hours. This thought, however, had Ian smiling a bit as he considered why he had been out so late.

“I'm making eggs, you hungry?” offered the stranger in a friendly tone.

Ian glanced over at him, then into the sizzling pan, and shook his head. “No thanks,” he murmured, as he made his way to the other side of the kitchen island to sit in one of the stools.

“I'm Ben, by the way. What was your name?”

“Ian.”

“You're cool with me being here, right?” questioned Ben, looking over his shoulder. “I mean, John wasn't lying or anything, right?”

Ian pulled in a nose full of heavenly roasted bean steam from his mug and barely managed to raise his sleepy eyes back up to Ben as he answered, “Yeah, it's cool. Don't care what he does.”

“That's cool,” winked Ben before turning back to the skillet in front of him, “So, how did you—“

Ian stood again, interrupting Ben, as he really didn't have the energy to carry on conversation with a stranger in his own kitchen. He barely paid Ben's concerned look any mind and left the room with many needs. He retrieved his phone, cigarettes, and coat, then headed out for the balcony. The morning sun hit him hard, causing him to squint and shuffle to his usual chair with his head bowed.

Once settled into the chair with a lit cigarette and his hood up, cradling his hot mug for warmth, he pulled out his phone again. He raised his eyes to the balcony doors to check for onlookers, before starting a new thread with Mickey. He wrote out a long text, complaining about John bringing a guy home, and letting him sleep in his bed, but when he finished he began to second-guess it. Mickey probably didn't want to hear about that, he told himself. So, he erased it and sent out a simple text instead.

 **Ian:** _Morning :)_

There was no reply. Not even after six minutes. His cigarette was near it's end and Ian frowned. Of course, Mickey was still asleep, he considered. He'd still be asleep, too, if not for the stranger in his kitchen and the meds he had to choke down every morning.

Ian decided to send off one more for Mickey to read when he woke.

 **Ian:** _Just had a minute so I thought I'd text and say that I had a lot of fun last night :) Can't wait to hang out again next friday. There's a bit of a situation here today so not sure if I'll be able to talk much. I hope you have a good day._

Ian reluctantly erased the thread after a few moments and put his cigarette out to head back inside. He hung his coat up again, leaving the cigarettes with it, and made his way back to the kitchen. The sight of John in his robe sitting beside his new friend at the kitchen island had Ian tensing and pausing for a brief moment.

They were talking casually, both eating the food Ben had piled onto two plates and Ian contemplated going right back out to the balcony. He'd honestly rather freeze than enter this situation. But, he pushed on, and headed for the kitchen counter, murmuring, “Morning.”

“Oh, good morning, Baby,” chirped John, causing Ian to glance at him suspiciously.

John wasn't ever that cheerful in the morning. They barely ever said two words to each other in the morning hours.

“Have you met Ben?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he kept his back to them, focusing on putting bread in the toaster.

“Yep,” returned Ian tightly.

Quiet set in that was suddenly thick with some sort of tension that Ian didn't care to face, so he kept his back to them. Even after his toast popped up and he smeared both slices in peanut butter, he didn't turn around. He just leaned on the counter and took as big of bites as his mouth would allow, to finish them as quickly as possible.

Ian set his plate in the sink and turned to find the men finished with their food, as well, and were just looking at each other with knowing smiles that picked at Ian's defense. He bit down hard on his tongue and made his way to the bathroom without a word spoken. He locked the door and pulled in a deep steadying breath to calm himself. He knew exactly what the hell was going on. The entire pathetic display with Ben was simply John asserting his dominance.

Ian gave him the pass to screw around and John used it as a way to piss on his territory, clearly to remind Ian of his place. He couldn't say anything.

Of course he didn't give a shit if someone else was occupying John's time, and getting him off of Ian's back in regard to sexual needs, but the blatant display was a challenge that had Ian simmering in irritability. Why did he have to toy with Ian like this?

Heaving a heavy sigh, Ian turned on the shower to escape in for just a little while. It helped, regardless of the fact that he didn't need it. It was his safe place. His bubble. He shut his eyes and let the hot water spray directly onto his face, relishing in the mind-emptying comfort. In that moment, nothing else existed but him and the good feelings this luxury gave him.

A flickering thought of John knowing full well that Ian was annoyed had him pulling his face out of the water with another sigh. Since the beginning of their arranged marriage Ian had always run off to hide in the shower to calm himself, and John knew this. He was growing irritated all over again imagining how cocky John would be when he returned to the kitchen.

So, Ian abandoned the relaxation and focused on washing his body. It was during this process that he noticed something concerning. He felt pain when he was rubbing his exfoliating rag over his shoulder blade. Ian reached back to the spot with just his fingertips and felt his heart drop dramatically upon feeling a few spots of disturbance in the smooth skin, like scabbed cuts.

Ian quickly finished and barely dried himself as he made his way to the mirror. He turned his back and leaned it towards the mirror to get a close look. He swallowed roughly as he spied the two prominent crescent moon shaped red splits in his skin.

“Shit,” he spat.

It was a good thing he'd noticed now, before he had made a mistake like changing in front of John. However, just knowing the marks were there and he couldn't do anything to speed up the process of healing had Ian's heart rate spiking. John would know. With just one glance, everything could fall apart.

Ian scooped up his phone and quickly fired of a string of texts to Mickey.

 **Ian:** _Hey I'm in the bathroom_

 **Ian:** _Just took a shower and I fucking noticed there's marks on my back._

 **Ian:** _Idk wtf to do. Just gonna have to hide it until they're gone or whatever but you gotta be more careful next time._

Ian's phone buzzed and he almost hated how instantly his worry turned to excitement. He was trying to be rational, and serious, but his puppy-love-addled brain just screamed Mickey's name happily.

 **Mickey:** _Shit! Sorry man I didn't know_

 **Ian:** _I mean John didn't see thankfully and it should be gone quick anyhow but we were being dumb not being careful about that lol_

Ian opened the camera on his phone and pointed it over his shoulder to capture a picture of said marks to send to Mickey. There was a following long pause before he received a reply.

 **Mickey:** _What am I looking at?_

 **Ian:** _Those are from your nails asshole lol_

 **Mickey:** _Those two little spots? I thought they were freckles [tongue-face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _Let me show you some real shit_

Ian furrowed his brow and waited, setting down his phone to dry himself more and reapply some of his clothes. His phone buzzed again before he got to his shirt and after a quick glance down had him seeing the alert that included the word _Image_ , he scooped up his phone urgently.

His eyes widened at the picture and he immediately enhanced it. There was Mickey's beautiful pale neck and the screaming dark hickeys scattered all over the side of it. Most were just soft red or areas of scattered tiny red dots, but the center show was large and purple, and Ian knew the exactly moment he'd given it to him. He uncontrollably grinned, his heart fluttering excitedly as he studied every bit, before he replied.

 **Ian:** _Mmm good to know you get hickeys so easily_

 **Mickey:** _Uhh so EASILY?? You were sucking on my fucking neck like a vampire_

 **Mickey:** _I seem to recall you almost drawing blood at one point too_

 **Ian:** _Are you complaining?_

 **Mickey:** _Not one bit haha_

 **Ian:** _hahaha Good :)_

 **Mickey:** _But yeah I'll be more careful next time. Didn't think my nails were long enough for that shit lol I don't even remember doing that to you_

 **Ian:** _I definitely do :)_

 **Mickey:** _[eye rolling emoji]_

Ian snorted and pulled his shirt on, giving a glance towards the door.

 **Ian:** _Gotta go :( but hopefully I'll talk to you soon_

 **Mickey:** _Ok. Well I had fun last night too btw_

 **Mickey:** _You picking me up Monday?_

 **Ian:** _Definitely :) ttyl_

Ian waited a bit, confirming Mickey was done texting, and erased the thread. He returned to the kitchen feeling refreshed in multiple ways and found John sitting alone at the kitchen island.

“He leave?” asked Ian as he made his way to his abandoned coffee cup. He headed for their machine to make more as he listened to John reply.

“Not yet. He's getting dressed now, though.”

Ian nodded quietly in return.

“You okay?” asked John, and his tone was frustratingly teasing.

Ian's jaw twitched before he managed to force out, “Yeah, why?”

“Just seem a little pissy this morning.”

Ian sighed loud enough for John to hear and grabbed his fresh cup of coffee to hold while he turned and leaned against the counter.

“Tired.”

John looked unbelievably smug as he crossed his arms and leaned back in the stool, smiling at Ian. He stared at John for a moment, tilting his head and looking at him with exhaustion.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What?” returned John with his annoying smile growing more.

“You look so pleased with yourself.”

Before either one of them could say another word Ben returned to the kitchen, dressed and holding a cellphone. “Alright,” he sang, “I ordered an uber, so I'm gonna head out.”

He headed straight for John, smiling, and reaching a hand out to stroke John's arm. Ian watched with raised brows as they kissed.

“I had fun, so call me up if you want to do it again,” spoke Ben, while John glanced over to Ian with his smile still in place. Ian rolled his eyes at him.

“Sounds good,” replied John, “There's an elevator in the garage that'll take you to the bottom floor.”

“Great, thanks,” smiled Ben, before planting another kiss on John's lips. He looked over his shoulder then and seemed to lose his smile a bit as he noticed Ian's tense demeanor. “Nice to meet you, Ian.”

“You too,” returned Ian tightly.

The brunette wasted no time leaving then, as if he sensed the conflict that was brewing in the air. The second they heard the front door shut, John motioned to the stool beside him and spoke, “Come over here, Ian.”

Ian wanted to defiantly stay standing, but also really needed to sit down for a moment, so he caved and headed to John's side.

“You sure you're just tired?”

“Jesus,” groaned Ian irritably, “Obviously I'm annoyed you let a stranger sleep in our bed, John. And obviously you know that.”

“You mean you're jealous?”

Again, he sounded so pleased with himself, and Ian wanted nothing more than to throw a quick jab into the blonde's nose.

“Not jealous, pissed off. That was so disrespectful. You didn't even give me a heads up, so I got to be frightened and confused when I went into the bedroom last night and a _stranger_ greeted me.”

“We were a little messed up last night when we got back here,” said John with a laugh, as if this explanation would clear the air.

Ian sent him an unsatisfied look and lifted his coffee to take a drink.

“Look, I'm sorry,” said John with a roll of his eyes, “Didn't expect him to still be here when I woke up or even when you got home.”

“Yeah, he really made himself right at home, huh?”

“I was going to kick him out, but I passed out beforehand.”

Ian nodded, lowering his eyes to his coffee mug that he now held onto like a raft.

“You're not actually upset about it, are you?” asked John, “I thought you said you were fine with me fooling around.”

“I am. You can do whatever you want,” shrugged Ian, “It's none of my business. Just, I don't know, maybe go to _their place_ , or get a hotel, next time, alright? It was pretty fucked up coming home to a total stranger sleeping on my side of the bed.”

“I swear I'll send you a text next time, alright?”

Ian looked to him with complete disbelief, pausing to try to figure out what to say without yelling.

“Are you serious? I don't think I'm being unreasonable, John. Is it so hard to fuck guys somewhere else?”

“It's my house, Ian.”

“Isn't it mine, too?”

“It's not like you sleep in the bed that often. You're always on the god damn couch.”

Ian quickly looked away as he felt flames of anger bubbling up to tense his jaw.

“You mad that this means you won't be getting as many bonuses? That what this is about? Because, you know I've still got plenty of stamina.”

Ian rolled his eyes blatantly at that and found John smirking.

“Jesus, you're so full of yourself,” snipped Ian, “It's just rude, okay? I'm not allowed to fool around, but _you are_. That's unfair as is, then you wave it in my face to remind me of my place in this arrangement. I know what you're doing, alright?”

The amusement faded from John's expression and Ian knew he was walking on thin ice, once again.

“Uh, yeah, because I'm the one fucking paying for this,” snapped John, “So, I'm the one that gets to do whatever the hell I want. You want to walk away from this money? Go right ahead. I can just pick up another pretty _desperate_ face to replace you.”

Ian sighed sharply and dropped his face down into his hands, scrubbing at it irritably.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured, “I get it. I'm nothing but a whore and if I want my money I just need to shut up and take it, right?”

“Don't call yourself that.”

“That's what the hell I am, right?” snapped Ian as he raised his eyes again to look at his husband.

John frowned and looked away. Ian shook his head and drew a breath as he returned his eyes to his coffee mug. He wanted to go back to the other side of his life. The one he had basked in last night. This was the polar opposite and the starkness of it was suffocating.

He tensed as John's hands suddenly slipped onto his back. They smoothly slid up towards his shoulder and Ian swore the marks left on his skin were screaming out their existence. He felt panicked as John leaned in and pressed a kiss to his right shoulder, letting his hands fall to the bottom of Ian's shirt. They started to rise up inside, with hesitation, as he was clearly waiting for Ian to make a move.

John's lips ghosted the back of Ian's neck and he murmured, “You sure you're not jealous?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I'm really not. Not that I would be allowed to be, anyways,” spoke Ian sincerely, with a bite. He then moved, shrugging John off of him to turn and look at the blonde haired man with even more disbelief. “And I'm really not in the mood if you're trying to get _something_ from me.”

“Geez, alright,” laughed John, retracting from Ian's personal space. “You're still so pissy.”

“I need to go get some homework done,” dismissed Ian with a quick wave towards the living room. “Just give me some space to chill out, alright?”

John looked so damn triumphant and cocky as he watched Ian go, and Ian truly had to fight every single impulse that begged to just deck him right in the face.

 

 

**

Mickey felt more giddy than he'd ever admit as he practically skipped down his apartment stairs to head out to Ian. He hadn't gotten to talk to him since Saturday morning, which was practically unbearable after their date Friday night.

However, when he opened the passenger door to the car and laid eyes on Ian, he instantly knew there was a heavy weight on the redhead's shoulders.

“Hey,” greeted Mickey cautiously as he dropped into the car and shut the door.

“Hi,” breathed Ian with a look of relief. “Got you donuts today.”

Mickey nodded, glancing towards the brown bag. He reached for his coffee and glanced at Ian, finding his green eyes bouncing all over him, taking him in. Mickey sipped his coffee with a furrowed brow before asking, “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” returned Ian, quickly turning his attention to the road and throwing the gear in drive.

Mickey gave him a skeptical look, pausing to apply his seat belt while Ian pulled out onto the road. Ian wasn't looking at him anymore, so he pressed, “You sure? Look a little...worn out.”

Ian nodded his head stiffly and Mickey frowned. He wasn't about to interrogate the man, but obviously something was bothering him. Ian pulled in an audible breath and Mickey found himself watching his mouth closely.

“Just had a long fucking weekend with John,” admitted Ian unexpectedly, quietly. “Drove me insane.”

“What happened? He pick a fight with you, again?”

“A few times,” scoffed Ian, “When I got home Friday there was some fucking _rando_ sleeping on my side of the bed.”

“You fuckin' serious? Is that like allowed, with your guys' rules?”

“I mean, yeah. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I'm the one who's not allowed to do shit like that. It was just such an obvious way to rub in my face how powerless I am. And he kept picking at me all god damn weekend, like he was having fun tormenting me. I just...”

Ian's jaw twitched and he glanced far away, shaking his head, in an obvious attempt to shut something down. Mickey watched every movement he made closely, trying to gauge how to approach the situation.

“I just kept thinking about how stupid it was that I'm even putting up with this shit. How stupid _I am_. I could walk away, right now, you know? And yet, there I was, all fucking weekend, letting him bully me like some asshole middle schooler.”

“Man, fuck that guy. He's so god damn pathetic. Who the fuck gets off on shit like that?”

“I don't fucking know,” sighed Ian. “I'm just so...tired, Mick. So tired of him. And the situation.”

“Then leave,” pushed Mickey, “Just fuckin' leave him in the dust.”

“I'm scared I'll regret it.”

Ian said the words so quietly, so brokenly, that Mickey felt his heart ache confusedly. So many obvious questions popped into his head, but he had a hard time getting a single one out as he watched Ian's eyes flicker with pain.

Mickey sighed irritably at the cause of Ian's problems, but he wondered if Ian took it another way as he had lured those anguished eyes to him for a second.

“Just really fuckin' hate that guy,” reassured Mickey, and Ian nodded silently in agreement, “Why the fuck you would you regret leavin'?”

“I, uh, keep thinking about how everything would be in six months if I left now—Barely scraping by, probably working two or more jobs to afford finishing out school, taking away Liam's good education to throw him back in a public school that'll shit all over him, and holding my breath with Lip on affording the bills...I'm not the only one who will suffer if I walk away right now. Lip and Liam both will take hits. The comparison of how it could be, versus putting up with some shit now, seems like an obvious conclusion.”

Mickey scowled, biting his tongue a bit as he watched Ian process his own words. He opened his mouth to argue with so many words, but Ian suddenly continued.

“There's no way I'm not going to regret throwing in the towel if I screw us all over in the process. All I gotta do is hold out until I get my degree without any debt, and it'll be smoother sailing, you know? We can move to a better area with at least _normal_ public schools, and I'll have a nine to five salary job that'll make it easy to figure out all the finances. It'll all be worth it then.”

“That's fuckin' stupid.” Ian glanced to him with a frown, but Mickey continued on, “It is. I can tell your ass first hand that taking control and going the fuck down the rough road makes it _worth it_. I know it's hard when your brain is screamin' at you to fuckin' not risk shit, but if it's killin' you, then it's worth the struggle when you run, right?”

Ian grew quiet. In a way that made the air thick between them and Mickey feel increasingly concerned. He thought about trying to speak again, attempting to approach from a different avenue, but he really wasn't sure of how to put it all nicely.

“It was just one bad weekend,” spoke Ian quietly, “Most of the time everything's fine.”

“You sure about that? Seems like _every_ weekend he's pissing you off and making you feel like dirt.”

Ian shook his head a few times and let out a flat laugh, “I shouldn't even be talking to you about this stuff.”

“Who the hell else are you going to talk to about it?”

“I mean, it's not that big of a deal. I've just been extra sensitive to his shit lately. I've been through a lot worse, so I don't even know why I'm acting like this is anything but a cake walk.”

Mickey suddenly worried that Ian would shut down permanently in regard to his feelings about the John situation, now. He knew how bad it would be for him to bottle it all up. And this almost made him regret opening his mouth at all. He couldn't just let it be, so after a moment of chewing worriedly on his bottom lip, Mickey instructed, “Hey, pull off in that park over there.”

“Wha—“

“Just pull off in the park, Gallagher.”

Ian did as he was instructed and took a right, then pulled into the parking lot of a small, semi-empty park. When the car came to a complete stop in one of the spaces, Mickey spoke, “Almost to work and there's clearly more shit to say, so.”

“There's really not, Mick. I'm sorry if I made you worry, but I am fine. Just irritated, is all.”

Mickey looked to Ian for a moment, to the hardened expression on his face, before rolling his eyes at him.

“Man, you gotta stop minimizing shit like that. I'm not going to pressure you into any shit, alright? I spoke my mind, but I know that this is still your fuckin' life and the last thing I wanna do is make you think I'm another prick trying to force you in any direction.”

“I know you're not.”

“Why'd you start clammin' up back there then, huh?” challenged Mickey, turning more in his seat to look at him.

“It's fucking embarrassing,” admitted Ian with a shameful bite, “I needed to vent, but then I just felt uncomfortable that I was saying it all to you, of all people. I'm lost, Mickey, and you didn't asked to be pulled into my whirlwind of bullshit.”

“I could walk away if it was really that much of a bother, Ian. I'm here, listening to your ass, because I wanna be. So, don't use me as an excuse.”

Ian deflated with a sigh, slouching more in his seat, but he still wasn't looking at Mickey. Especially, not like he usually did on Mondays.

“Look, you're not gonna figure it all out right now, okay? It's a shitty situation and you should absolutely walk the fuck away from it, but if you can't right now then you can't. I get it.”

Ian glanced at him, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “You do?”

“Of course, I do.”

Again it grew quiet, but this time the air seemed to be calming. Mickey lit up a cigarette and took another swig of his coffee before he opened his mouth again.

“It's like my brother Joey, right? He robbed a pawnshop about six years back. Said there was this moment where he could've walked away with a bag full of jewelry and guns, but he wanted the cash, too. Would've been a big payout, so he stood there trying to decide if he should take the risk and make the guy go to the back where his safe was, or take the shit in the bag and go. He decided the bigger payout was worth it and ended up getting' his ass locked up.”

“You saying I'm going to end up in jail if I stay?”

“No, I'm sayin' that moment that he stood there trying to decide was his downfall, not the fuckin' acts themselves. The more you torture yourself about it, the bigger the risk is to your fuckin' mind or whatever. You're not gonna be able to handle either direction, ya know?”

Slowly Ian nodded, like his words took a while to really sink in.

“And just know that you deserve better,” shrugged Mickey, “Shouldn't have to put up with that asshole.”

“Yeah, well, the truth is...I'm just really scared of ending up back where I was two years ago. I don't want to be that again.”

It was cryptic and Mickey wanted nothing more than to press him for an explanation, but the way Ian's expression had gone cold and lifeless had him reaching a hand out to squeeze his thigh gently instead. Ian quickly looked to him and Mickey took in a breath of relief when he watched his green eyes sparkle to life.

“Not sure the fuck that means exactly, but you won't. If you don't wanna be somethin' you were before, then you won't be it. You have too much determination. And you're too fuckin' stubborn.”

Ian smiled at that, as if even he couldn't deny it. “Thanks, Mick.”

Mickey nodded repeatedly for a moment before he shrugged and looked straight ahead to the park. He took a hit from his cigarette and watched a jogger for a moment, before curiously returning his attention to Ian. He was staring very intently at Mickey, with a powder softness to his expression that had Mickey struggling to breathe. And Ian didn't stop, he simply set his head back on his headrest, as if he was getting comfortable because he planned to stare at him for the rest of the day.

“What?” mumbled Mickey, raising his cigarette back up to his lips to hide behind.

Ian still said nothing and made no move to stop. Mickey felt himself cooking in the spot light and nervously laughed out his hit of smoke as he reached over to playfully push Ian's face away. Ian laughed and batted Mickey's hand away.

“What, I'm not allowed to stare?” teased Ian through his fading laughter.

“No, you're fuckin' not.”

“Gonna do it anyhow,” mumbled Ian. “Let me get a hit?”

Mickey took another hit from his cigarette before passing it over to Ian. But, as he sipped from his coffee instead, blowing out his smoke through his nose, he felt Ian's eyes on him again. Mickey looked to find Ian pulling a long drag through smirking lips with eyes that were dipping down his body.

“Stop,” laughed Mickey.

Ian grinned and shook his head, “Can't.”

“Oh, fuck off,” returned Mickey with a bashful chuckle to follow.

“Missed ya, you know.”

“It's only been two days,” countered Mickey as he reached for what remained of the cigarette.

“Still missed you,” shrugged Ian casually.

Mickey grinned to himself as he put his cigarette out and tried to calm his racing heart. The giddiness he felt when he'd left his apartment earlier had returned with a mighty roar. So, he rolled up his window and turned towards Ian. He didn't have to say a word, or make a gesture, as the moment their eyes locked Ian was leaning in. Mickey cupped the bottom of Ian's jaw just before their lips collided with an equal expression of content.

Anymore, Mickey felt like every second of his day was spent counting down until he could kiss Ian again. It had been a long fifty-six hours of waiting, but this moment felt worth the wait. It always did. As if it was truly the only thing in the world that made sense.

Slowly they sank into each other and Mickey found his thumb moving in circles below his cheekbone. Ian sighed noisily through his nose and then his hand was wrapping over Mickey's, holding it tightly against his own face.

Mickey pulled away just enough to look into Ian's eyes, but he found Ian's stayed shut, as if he wasn't ready to come up for air yet. Ian's fingers curled against the back of Mickey's hand until his fingertips began to swing feather touches back and forth on his skin. Mickey smiled ever so gently and returned for one more warm kiss, before he spoke, “Gotta get to work, Gallagher.”

Ian's red lashes finally lifted to reveal eyes that spoke multiple things to Mickey; things that he felt his own eyes answering to.

“Just a little bit longer,” pleaded Ian ever so quietly.

“Can't be late,” protested Mickey, even as he was magnetically pulled right back in by the unspoken words in Ian's gaze. He felt happily helpless as he chased the taste of soy latte and cigarettes on Ian's tongue.

 

*

“You're late, Mickey,” hissed Ellison, practically walking on Mickey's heels as he followed him all the way to his desk.

“I know, I know,” said Mickey, “Missed my bus. I'm only like fifteen minutes late, man, chill.”

Mickey set down his, _now_ , cold coffee and the bag of donuts that he'd never gotten around to even opening.

“John's in a bad mood,” pressed Ellison, “And he noticed.”

Mickey sighed heavily as he tossed his coat onto the back of his chair, then murmured, “When's he _not_ in a bad mood?”

“So nice of you to grace us with your presence, Milkovich.”

John's voice always sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Mickey, but on this morning it was five times worse. As he turned to look at his approaching boss Mickey felt anger slithering out of his core and running down his limbs. All he could see was the way Ian had looked in the car this morning, even as his boss sauntered up with a smug look and draped his arm over the divider between Mickey and Amy's desks.

“Care to explain why you're late this morning?”

Mickey looked away, trying his very best to remember how he dealt with his boss before Ian had stumbled into his life. He tried to discard the feelings he'd carried away from the car and pushed himself hard to speak, “I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen, again.”

“Mhm.”

A quiet moment passed which had Mickey returning his gaze to his boss, who looked endlessly tense and on the offense.

“So, you're almost twenty minutes late, but you still made time to pick up donuts on the way here?”

_Shit._

Mickey glanced over at the bag and casually lied, “Got them yesterday.”

“Uh huh.” John leaned forward and lowered his voice as he continued, “I've told you before, if you don't want to work here, there are plenty of other people who can do your job. You don't want to come in on time, then just don't come in at all.”

“It's not that, Sir. I want this job.”

“Then what is it, Milkovich? You forget how to tell time?”

Mickey sucked on his teeth as he kept his desired venom coated words at bay. He glanced around, defensive and uncomfortable as he realized just about everyone in the entire office was watching them. Again, he thought of Ian. Of how unhappy he was. But, when he returned his attention to John he found his mind filling with memories of Ian reaching for more from him, in such a desperate way; as if their physical exchanges were the only thing keeping Ian's feet on the ground.

Mickey leaned forward a bit and tugged his head back, which had John looking over him with suspicion. Gradually, John leaned forward and Mickey smirked a bit.

“Truth is, my guy wouldn't let me leave this morning,” said Mickey quietly, but with great confidence as looking into John's eyes while he speaking about Ian's desire for him was something he relished more than he'd ever expected to. “See, his boss was a real asshole to him over the weekend, so he needed a little extra comfort, ya know?”

John let out a laugh of disbelief and shook his head. But, his eyes did move to Mickey's neck and sparked with understanding, which had Mickey wondering if Ian had left another mark on his skin. He only smiled more sardonically, letting his mind flood with the memories of Ian's soft lips on his skin.

“Kinda hard to prioritize anything over _that_ , in the moment, if you know what I mean,” added Mickey, equally quietly.

He felt a rush of satisfaction knowing that John didn't know what he meant by experience, at all. Given he'd never had Ian's attention without paying for it one way or another. Mickey felt suddenly superior in this moment; untouchable.

“Mm. Yeah, well, I'm paying you a generous salary to write code, not get your jollies. So, don't let it happen again, alright?”

“Yes, Sir,” nodded Mickey.

John gave him one last look-over and scoffed with amusement before turning to walk away. Mickey smiled a little wider and turned back to his desk, though he was sidetracked by the shocked look Ellison was giving him.

“What?” shrugged Mickey.

“You're unbelievable,” sighed Ellison heavily, before walking away, as well.

Mickey chuckled and looked to Damon, who was standing just enough to look at him over the divider. He was smiling knowingly, shaking his head slowly. Mickey sent him a smug look in return and dropped into his chair to start his work day.

Before he even booted up his computer, however, he sent a text off to Ian.

 **Mickey:** _Can't let that happen again_

It was an hour into work before Mickey received a reply that made him let out a disbelieving breath.

 **Ian:** _It was worth it though [winky face emoji]_

 **Mickey:** _It was a one time thing. I was confronted the second I got into the office._

 **Ian:** _You didn't get in trouble did you?_

 **Mickey:** _Nah surprisingly John let it go_

 **Ian:** _Then it worked out :)_

 **Mickey:** _Yeah ok well still_

 **Ian:** _Wish I could leave earlier in the am so we could start every day that way_

 **Mickey:** _Don't even think about it. One time thing, Gallagher._

Even though Mickey was protesting, he honestly couldn't think of a better way to start the workday. On the elevator ride up, and the moments before Ellison and John cornered him, Mickey had been feeling pleasantly content and focused.

 **Ian:** _Yeah okay I get it lol_

 **Ian:** _Its just I can still taste you and it makes me want more_

Mickey smiled, leaning back in his chair as he allowed himself a moment to just enjoy a reflection of the good parts of his morning. He really couldn't wait for Friday. The weekend was actually going to feel like a holiday to him, for once, given he would have Ian at his side for a full twenty-four hours.

 **Mickey:** _Well you're gonna have to wait a few days for that lol_

 **Ian:** _Oh hey btw can you ask Damon if they want me to bring anything on friday?_

 **Mickey:** _Like what?_

 **Ian:** _Idk. Food or booze or whatever_

 **Mickey:** _You always so nice? It's fucking weird lol_

 **Ian:** _Hahaha Screw you_

 **Mickey:** _Not til Friday :)_

 **Ian:** _Ugh the week is going to fucking drag_

 

 

*

The week really did drag, but Friday morning eventually came and Mickey awoke with the finish line in view. This made it easy to get ready for the day, regardless of the annoyance that he had to work at all on Christmas Eve. Ian didn't, like most people downtown, but he still insisted on giving Mickey a ride to work.

Really, this only added to the special feeling the day held, as he climbed into the passenger seat of Ian's car and found the redhead in casual, everyday, clothing. He smiled brightly at Mickey and greeted him with a kiss, which had Mickey grinning at him when he pulled back.

“Morning,” said Mickey with a laugh.

“Good morning,” returned Ian with his smile morphing more into a smirk, “For once, it really is. John left really early this morning for Seattle, so my bag's already packed for your place.”

Ian pulled out onto the road and Mickey reached for the white paper bag he found stuffed with bear claws. “Yeah, fuckin' love that he gets to leave this morning, but we all have to work.”

“Yeah, that's pretty dumb,” agreed Ian. “So, the party's at seven, right?”

“Mhm. What time you taking Liam to Lip?”

“Around three,” answered Ian, before suddenly excitedly suggesting, “Oh, I could pick you up from work?”

Mickey chuckled around the mouth full of pastry he had bit off. He swallowed it down and returned, “Nah, don't worry bout that. Just be at my place around six-thirty, alright?”

“Alright,” murmured Ian.

Mickey had plans to make sure he and his apartment were ready for a guest, and he had a feeling if Ian was present early in the evening he would be far too distracted to actually get ready—let alone actually still _want_ to make it to Damon's house.

“Don't worry, you're gonna be stuck with me all night, Gallagher,” offered Mickey, “Probably gonna be sick of me by tomorrow morning.”

Ian quickly sent him a look, which had Mickey smiling into the next bite of his breakfast.

“Don't think that's possible.”

“Yeah, cause it's all still fresh,” replied Mickey jokingly through his mouth full of food.

“Am I sensing insecurities? _In Mickey Milkovich_?”

Mickey quickly scowled at Ian, who chuckled at the sight. Of course, he had insecurities. He was practically buzzing with them when it came to Ian, but he wasn't about to share that. Thankfully, Ian went on to babble about his simple plans for the day, and tried again to talk Mickey into letting him come over early, which Mickey admittedly relished. He would gladly drown in the feeling that Ian so blatantly wanting extra time with him evoked.

When Ian pulled up to the familiar area he usually dropped him off at, four blocks away from work, they smiled with equal excitement.

“I'll see you later,” winked Ian.

As they shared a kiss full of smiles and soft laughs, Mickey once again found himself lost in fantasies of a future where this was their everyday. He had a feeling this would be happening to him for the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow he would likely wake up aching for the chance to have a future relationship filled with easy living by Ian's side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updates! I've already started on the next two, so cross your fingers that those will go up faster.
> 
> I wanted to get something up, so apologies if this seems rushed, short, or has any mistakes :)


	14. As Long as You're With Me, You'll be Just Fine.

Mickey swung the door open, but immediately moved back, calling out, “Hey, come on in.”

Ian stepped in and shut the door behind him as he watched Mickey scramble around. He threw his coat on and collected his keys, smokes, and phone, but then moved to throw something in the trash and finally to the living room to grab a large gift bag. When Mickey turned his attention to Ian he found the man standing with his arms crossed and a strange half-smile.

“What's up?” asked Mickey, “Think I'm ready to go now.”

“Uh huh, _now_ do I get a kiss?”

Mickey let out a soft laugh as he moved to be at Ian's side, then sarcastically returned, “Oh, excuse me.”

Ian chuckled and reached out to pull him close enough that he could lean down and plant a warm kiss on his lips. Mickey felt his grip on the gift bag loosen as he melted into it and pressed in for more. His mind truly shut off, though, when both of Ian's hands rose to his head to softly caress his scalp and jawline. Mickey practically purred as they went on to kiss slower and softer.

But, then he felt Ian's hand drop down to the gift bag and tug, as if he was trying to get him to drop it. Mickey smiled, pulling away to question, “What'ya doin'?”

“We can steal a bit of time, right?” spoke Ian lowly, “They won't care if we're a little late.”

Mickey let out a laugh and shook his head, “Nah, man, Damon's been blowin' up my phone. We gotta go.”

Ian pouted dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes in amusement, “Let's go.”

“Fine,” drawled Ian in a heavy disappointed tone as he turned and reopened the door.

“We'll be back here later,” reassured Mickey, as he shuffled out behind Ian, turning off his lights in the process, “Don't worry bout it.”

Ian sent him a smile over his shoulder and waited for Mickey to double check his door was locked before they moved together outside. Ian lead the way to his car, which Mickey was happy to find still kind of warm.

He tossed the gift bag onto the backseat floor and settled in as Ian fired the car back up.

“Wanna set up the GPS?” asked Ian as he handed his phone over to Mickey before putting the car in gear.

Mickey lifted his brows at the gesture. He couldn't remember the last time someone just handed him their phone, with such trust. Although, he supposed the only thing personal and possibly incriminating that Ian ever did with it involved _him_ , so.

“Hold up,” Mickey found himself saying the second his eyes hit the screen. Their message thread was still pulled up, in which Ian had announced his arrival, and what he found made him look to Ian with a cocked brow. “Who the fuck is Minnie? Am I seriously in your fuckin' phone as _Minnie_? As in Minnie fuckin' Mouse?”

Ian looked to him with wide eyes and his lips pressed together so tightly like he was about to burst. A full moment passed of them staring at each other before Ian finally did, spitting out loud laughter while Mickey looked on at him like he had two heads.

“Uhhh,” Ian let out another string of laughter before speaking, “Yeah, you are. I just thought in case anyone looked at my phone...”

“And how would you explain talking to someone named Minnie?”

“There's this chick I work with named Mindy, and I call her Minnie, so. There's that.”

Mickey shook his head a few times before returning his attention to the phone to back out of the messages. As he pulled up the navigation app he quietly grumbled, “Minnie and Mickey. The fuck.”

Ian snorted, “What? Were you teased growing up? Did they call you Mickey Mouse?”

“Yeah, right,” rebuked Mickey, “No one ever teased me...To my face, anyway.”

Ian laughed and Mickey couldn't help caving and joining in this time.

“I actually believe that,” returned Ian.

Mickey sent him a smirk as he leaned over and set Ian's phone in the mount on his dashboard. There was still snow on the sides of the roads, but the roads themselves were pretty clear, so it wouldn't take too long to get to the party. Which was especially good as his phone buzzed again in his pocket. Mickey pulled it out with a sigh.

 **Val:** _He's drunk [exhausted emoji]_

Mickey snorted loud before typing his reply.

 **Mickey:** _On our way now_

 **Val:** _TY TY_

Ian glanced at Mickey several times, curiously, until Mickey felt it in his bones. So, he quickly explained, “Damon's in a bad mood and apparently already fuckin' drunk, so he's drivin' Val crazy.”

“Oh, boy,” murmured Ian, “You guys have a bad day at work?”

“Nah, he got some test results the other day that upset him.”

“Jesus. He okay?”

“They've been tryin' to have a kid for a long time. He just found out his sperm's lazy, or whatever.”

“Ah, that really sucks.”

“I guess,” shrugged Mickey, “There's other ways.”

“So, if you ever wanted kids you wouldn't care whose sperm was used?”

Mickey furrowed his brow as he looked to Ian. “We're already talkin' bout kids?”

“I meant it in a general way,” dismissed Ian with a breathy laugh.

“Mhm,” Mickey turned his attention back to the road and thought about it for a minute, “I dunno, man. I never wanted any. Almost had one before and that was fuckin' terrifying. I think I still got a lot to figure out with my life before I'll even consider it, ya know?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Ian softly.

Mickey felt the swell of curiosity in the air long before Ian seemed to work up the courage to ask. The pause between made Mickey tense and wait for relief.

“So, was it with one of the chicks in high school, or something?”

A chill went up Mickey's spine and he didn't see much of a way around the conversation. He realized that there was a small part of him that wanted to tell Ian the entire story, but the rest of him was suffocated in shame and defensive pride.

“No,” answered Mickey sharply.

He then felt Ian's eyes on him for a dangerously long moment considering he was driving. Mickey slouched a bit more in his seat and cracked the window to light up a cigarette to help him cope.

“Anyhow, it doesn't fuckin' matter. Found out a while after that it wasn't mine, so that was a huge fuckin' relief, believe me. I'm sure it would be to the kid, too, cause I'm not tryin' to pass on the Milkovich genes.”

Ian let out a harsh laugh and related, “I know, I'd hate to pass my genes on, too.”

Mickey finally found the courage to look at Ian again and was surprised by familiar shadows on Ian's face. The whole car was filled with what seemed to be hauntings from both of their pasts. He frowned, trying to think of a way to clear it, but then Ian chimed, “Guess we'll have to adopt, huh?”

Mickey was so relieved by the ice breaker, and the way Ian glanced to him with amusement, he sincerely laughed at that and responded, “Yeah, guess so.”

Mickey carefully focused on flicking ash out the window before changing direction in the conversation.

“So, what time's your family thing tomorrow?”

“Um, I think I'm supposed to be at my sister's around four? I gotta double check, cause it's a bit of a drive.”

“Debbie, right?”

“Yeah,” smiled Ian, “Her and her husband offered to host, since Lip and I weren't going to do shit.”

Mickey laughed, “Yeah, I'm the same. Last year I spent Christmas playing video games. I did make myself a ham, though.”

“You spent last Christmas _alone_? Jesus, Mickey.”

“It's cool, wasn't a big deal. Mandy was going to try to visit, but didn't make it. And I'd rather not spend any holiday with the rest of my shithead family.”

“So, you really have nothing planned for tomorrow?” asked Ian slowly and Mickey sent him an inquisitive look in return.

“No, why?”

“Well, why don't you come with me to Debbie's?”

“Seriously? It's one thing to go together to a friend's small thing, but that's your _family's_ Christmas.”

“So what? They won't mind. I think Lip's bringing his current romantic conquest.”

“I dunno, man. Just feels a little weird. Don't wanna invade, or whatever.”

Ian chuckled. “You wouldn't be invading in on our holiday, geez. I'm inviting you. And isn't that better than sitting around alone at home?”

Mickey scrunched his lips to the side of his mouth as he contemplated it quietly. _Of course_ he wanted any time he could get with Ian, but the mere thought of going with him scared him a bit. What if his family didn't like him? Or, what if they had a problem with him being there instead of Ian's _husband_?

“C'mon, Mick. Pretty sure my brother Carl would love you, so you gotta meet him. And Liam likes you already.”

“Don't wanna stir no drama or nothin',” said Mickey, “I'm basically your mistress.”

He watched Ian roll his eyes and shake his head with a stubborn smile. And he hated the way he was secretly hoping Ian could argue him into submission.

“I'm telling you, they're not going to give a shit. But, it's really up to you,” concluded Ian, “If nothing else I can come back to your place tomorrow night, too?”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

There was a touch of nervousness about even that still, as Mickey wondered if it would be significant to Ian that they were planning to spend Christmas morning and night together. So, his heart dropped dramatically when Ian suddenly sang, “Can't wait to open my Christmas present.”

He must've looked as worried as he felt when he turned his head to look at Ian, because the second he glanced at Mickey, Ian laughed.

“You. _You're_ my Christmas present,” clarified Ian with a few deep laughs, “Can't wait to unwrap _you_.”

Mickey playfully rolled his eyes and shook his head as relief rushed down him. “You're so cheesy.”

“Maybe,” snorted Ian, “But, I think you like it.”

Mickey sent him a bullheaded look, refusing to admit it, even if it was absolutely true. He finished off his cigarette and shoved it out the window, but as he was rolling it the window up he felt Ian pluck his other hand from his lap. He looked over to find Ian smirking as he lifted Mickey's left hand to his mouth. He planted a kiss on it and while keeping his eyes locked on the stop light they were approaching he murmured against Mickey's skin, “Couldn't stop thinking about it all week.”

They came to a stop in front of the red light and Ian's eyes instantly shot over to Mickey, who tensed at the booming confidence he spied in them.

“What about you?” questioned Ian quietly.

Mickey didn't even have a chance to reply, his mouth falling open empty, as Ian suddenly wrapped his mouth around two of Mickey's fingers, gently sucking as he slowly dragged his lips across them. Their gazes were locked as Ian's tongue joined and lightly flicked the tips of Mickey's fingers.

A sudden horn blaring had them both jumping a bit and Mickey scowling angrily towards the back windshield as he held up his saliva coated middle finger. Ian chuckled, though, and drove forward through the freshly turned green light.

Mickey regarded him for a moment with suspicion and mused, “You're gonna try to tease my ass all night, aren't you?”

Ian shrugged slowly, sending a playful look to Mickey in a glance. Mickey bit his bottom lip and looked at the GPS. They were close, almost into the suburban neighborhood Damon and Val lived in, so he decided to take the silent challenge he suddenly set for himself.

“Yeah, alright, guess I gotta clear your head, huh?”

Ian sent him a confused look and asked, “What does that mean?”

Mickey simply smiled and unbuckled his seat belt. Ian's eyes grew as he repeatedly glanced at him, amusing Mickey to no end. He shifted and stretched over to greet the side of Ian's neck with an immediate passionate kiss. He had a frustrating thought of being careful not to suck too much and leave marks on Ian, which only made him yearn furthermore for a day where Ian was free.

He instead focused on dragging his lips and tongue around his skin, and found this elicited small pleasureful sounds from Ian, anyhow. Mickey pressed his hand to Ian's chest and dragged it down, down, down, until he reached the zipper on his jeans.

Ian groaned lowly as Mickey pulled him out and wrapped his hand around him with borderline urgency. Mickey spent a moment stroking him quickly and fully while he licked his way up to the bottom of Ian's ear in a slow, fluid, motion. He then slowed his hand as he pressed his mouth tight to Ian's ear and confidently spoke, “Bet I can get ya to come in my mouth before we get there.”

Mickey dipped his tongue into Ian's ear and felt the redhead shudder in response, which made him grin and playfully bite his ear.

“Eyes on the road,” commanded Mickey before he bowed down into Ian's lap. He adjusted to the most comfortable position possible under the circumstances. He let out a hot breath onto the head of Ian's cock before adding, “Not try'na die violently with a dick in my mouth.”

Ian let out a laugh while Mickey's hand pumped him a few times and teased, “Right, you wanna die _peacefully_ with a dic—“

Mickey cut him off and silenced him in a flash as he wrapped his mouth around him, sucking at the head as his hand continued to stroke him rhythmically. Mickey happily inhaled even more of him when he listened to the muted, pleased, sounds Ian began to make. He wasn't sure he had ever found anything in his entire life quite as arousing as making Ian react to pleasure. It made it so easy to relax around him and swallow him down deeper and deeper as he began to bob his head with heavy need.

Ian gasped a bit and tightly spoke, “I thought you weren't as good with a console between us.”

Mickey laughed around him, which seemed to make Ian twitch and hiss. He sucked harder as he pulled up in a movement that ended with his tongue moving against the back of the head of Ian's cock with intent. Tasting the result had Mickey's tongue then teasing at his slit instead. But, as he felt Ian's hand wrap around the back of his head he pulled off completely, smiling to himself as he spoke, “Nuh-uh, keep both hands on the steering wheel.”

Ian groaned painfully as he pulled his hand away to do as Mickey said, but this groan broke off into a loud breathy moan as Mickey swallowed him back down, this time taking him in even deeper while his tongue remained ambitious and thirsty, dancing against his flesh every chance it got.

And soon he knew it was just a matter of time, as he set himself into a rhythm that had Ian consistently hitting the back of his throat and moaning approval above him. However, before he drew out his goal he felt the car rock back and heard Ian shifting into park.

Mickey paused for a moment, with Ian sitting heavy on his tongue, and everything fell still and silent. So, he lifted his head curiously, wiping his mouth dry, and found them parked in a cul-de-sac with their headlights stretching out to a small empty field. Otherwise, they were surrounded by unfamiliar two-story houses that were lit up.

“You realize there are people awake in these houses, right? They're gonna wonder why there's a car parked at the end of their street.”

“We better make it quick then, huh?” returned Ian while he nodded towards the backseat.

Mickey slowly grinned, shaking his head, but he didn't even hesitate to head to the back. He laughed happily as Ian basically shoved him into the backseat, following closely, and instantly crowding over the back of him as Mickey found himself on his knees on the seat, facing the back windshield. Ian wasted no time shoving a hand down the front of Mickey to palm him over his jeans as he pushed himself against his ass.

Mickey hurriedly unzipped his pants so he could push them down out of the way while he gave a quick glance around to the houses he now had clear view of. Excitement flashed through him as Ian's warm flesh pressed against his bare ass and one of his big hands wrapped around his already eagerly hard cock. He was already so aroused he knew it wouldn't take much from Ian's hand. So, Mickey sucked his lip into his mouth and shoved a hand into his coat to fish out his wallet, immediately flipping it open to pull out a packet of lube to throw back at Ian, who chuckled and snatched the lube packet from where it'd fallen on the seat.

Mickey pulled out the condom he kept in his wallet before returning his wallet to the pocket of his coat. His movement to open the condom stalled as he felt Ian's newly slicked fingers finding their way to his ass. Mickey's senses were suddenly overwhelmed as Ian's hand returned to his cock and his lips found the back of his neck, while his fingertips circled his entrance, dipping in a bit.

“Not gonna break me, man,” groaned Mickey, as he rocked forward into Ian's slow and steady hand, “Get on with it.”

Ian playfully bit Mickey's neck hard, causing Mickey to look back at him over his shoulder with narrowed eyes and a smirk. Ian's left hand picked up speed as they made brief eye contact and Mickey found himself arching his back a bit. That's when he felt one of Ian's fingers suddenly push inside of him. It moved in and out quickly, sloppily, for only a moment before the second joined. Mickey shut his eyes and focused on staying relaxed; the way Ian's lips then softly danced on his skin helped. Not to mention his hunger, which had Mickey's body moving against and around those fingers in assistance.

Ian moaned onto his neck, opening his mouth more to press his wide warm tongue against Mickey's skin.

His body was overheating before Ian even worked a third finger in, scissoring and thrusting more impatiently than they ever had before. Each one of these movements made Mickey feel so desired that when they started brushing over his prostate he felt an alarming rush of pleasure. There was a temptation to just let it all continue until he came all over the leather seats before him, but he focused on the intensity that would come from Ian being inside of him and removed Ian's hand from his dick with great self control.

“Kay, alright, fuck. Put a condom on already, Mozart.”

Ian froze all movements, which was practically a shock to Mickey's desperate system.

“Condom?” he murmured against Mickey.

“Yeah, Genius, we're not making a mess before we go to someone's house.”

“Right, good point.”

For a moment they both seemed to scramble a bit as they found their own condoms and wrapped themselves up. Mickey then leaned forward again, bracing a hand on the top of the backseat and looked back at Ian, who was busy smothering himself with lube. They smiled at one another and Mickey licked his lips, tasting the anticipation that overflowed from every inch of himself.

He turned his head back and looked around the neighborhood streets cautiously. He spied no one, thankfully, as he wasn't sure he could calmly handle an interruption now.

Ian's hand wrapped back around Mickey's cock then and stroked the remaining lube over his covered flesh.

“Can't feel you the same way,” complained Ian quietly.

Mickey smiled to himself but returned, “You'll care a lot less when you actually fuck me.”

Ian snorted, but seemed perfectly okay with this notion as he lined himself up with Mickey's entrance, circling his head around it a bit, which simply made Mickey groan with frustrating need.

“Preferably before the citizens of Pleasantville notice, man,” urged Mickey, not caring one bit how desperate his voice sounded as he spoke.

Ian gave Mickey's ear a wide, wet, kiss as he began working his way inside. Mickey sighed contentedly through his nose and uncontrollably pushed back on Ian's cock, helping to speed it along.

Again, things were a lot less caring and slow as only a few short moments later Ian was thrusting in fully and murmuring about how much he'd missed his body. Mickey melted into those words and tilted his head back against Ian's, closing his eyes to relax into the intense pressure that was easing smoothly into pleasure. Ian's left hand then suddenly wrapped over the top of his on the top of the seat and he couldn't believe how complete it made him feel, even more so than where their bodies were steadily connecting below.

Ian's fingers pressed in between his and Mickey curled his fingers in response, locking their hands together. He arched his back again, moving experimentally on Ian's cock and listened to the redhead hiss out a swear, before he began to roll his hips with obvious need. Mickey unconsciously nodded his head in approval, downright anxious for the big payoff, now.

“C'mon, Ian,” urged Mickey, “Told ya you're not gonna break me.”

Ian met this challenge more and more with each thrust full of intent and aspiration. As Mickey's body began to jerk and bounce in reverberation he felt satisfied chills running down his legs. This is what he lived for; the movement of their bodies.

After last Friday Mickey felt like a dam had broken inside him. Before, he had naturally thought about sex with Ian on a consistent basis, but now his body almost _expected_ it. He knew if they had the freedom of each other's company whenever they wished then he'd likely never get anything else done.

When Ian's momentum and force increased exponentially Mickey realized the car below them was also moving, almost to a dizzying effect. This had him opening his eyes to see just how obvious it was. The sight of the trunk rocking had him quickly looking around the the nearby homes. Still, thankfully, no one was looking out through windows, or pulling out of driveways, but his heart was racing dramatically at just the thought alone.

If anyone happened to look outside now there would be no confusion about what they were witnessing. There was something about this that suddenly made Mickey feel so alive and free, and never ever want it to end. It was a the combination of their secretive relationship and fucking him in an open space where they actually could get caught. This was no hidden blow job; the heavy rocking car was a loud message.

Mickey was then opened-mouth smiling as he again shut his eyes and tilted his head back, riding on the high from the situation. Ian's mouth descended on his exposed neck once again, panting hot shallow breaths against it between kisses, and Mickey felt goose bumps racing down his arms.

Ian's other hand then grasped the top of the seat, as well, and he began to pull himself with each thrust he gave, which had Mickey's chest slamming into the seat. He certainly didn't mind. In fact, he found laughter tumbling from his mouth and pleasure building fast and thick at his core.

Mickey shoved his own hand down between his body and the seat to desperately take hold of himself, jerking the best he could in the situation, in attempt to beckon his orgasm forward. He then felt Ian's head drop down to the spot between his shoulder blades and his movements became rougher, indicating he was mindlessly chasing his own approaching orgasm. It made Mickey's hand move with extra, unpredictable, jerks and jumps which in turn made his orgasm rush forward violently, causing him to come hard into his condom. He unashamedly moaned roughly, brokenly.

The joy Mickey had been swelled with seemed to make his orgasm tap-dance happily across his skin in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. The way Ian snapped his arms around his body then, hugging him tightly, gave his stomach a fluttering sensation that only seemed to make his lightweight high sing even louder.

Mickey was grinning like a fool, gasping for air, as Ian grunted and tensed, tightening his hold on him desperately—almost painfully. He clenched around him for good measure, shivering at the sensitivity he felt, and Ian released a guttural swear against him.

It felt like a full minute passed of Ian just holding him, breathing directly into Mickey's back, so he chuckled and asked, “You alright?”

“Mhm,” hummed Ian into Mickey's clothes.

Even still, it took another moment for Ian to recuperate, which involved him swearing against Mickey a few more times. But, then they were cleaning themselves up and fixing their clothes the best they could in the cramped space. Mickey felt just a bit wobbly as he climbed back into the passenger seat, Ian didn't seem any more composed as he dropped into the driver's seat loudly.

“That was fuckin' good,” breathed Mickey, before running a hand down his face in attempt to bring himself back to reality.

“Yeah,” agreed Ian with a smile that sucked Mickey right in. His eyes flickered up to Ian's hair that was a bit disheveled, obviously from Mickey's back. He didn't hesitate to reach out and fix it for him, which only made Ian's smile turn affectionate.

“Can't wait to do that again.”

Mickey gave him a smirk as he pulled his hand away and playfully suggested, “Stay for an hour then go home?”

Ian's lasting smile stuttered unexpectedly and his eyes suddenly danced, as if he had just witnessed something important and meaningful. Mickey was a bit confused, but didn't question anything as the redhead leaned over to give him a surprisingly sweet kiss that filled him with soothing warmth down to his toes.

Thankfully and unfortunately, they were only two blocks from Damon's, so it didn't take much longer until Ian was pulling the car up to the curb outside of their one story house and parking it. Mickey still felt light and content as he exited the car. He opened the backseat door beside him and grabbed the gift bag he had brought only to find Ian going to his trunk. He approached with suspicion as Ian opened it and couldn't believe what he spied inside. The thing was stuffed with presents. Some in festive bags, some small boxes, some huge. He was even more surprised as Ian sifted through and pulled three gifts forward; one being a larger size than the others.

“The fuck is all this?”

“Presents,” laughed Ian as he lifted out the larger present wrapped in sparkling red paper.

Mickey paused to give Ian a very dry look, before returning, “No shit. Why'd you get presents for people you don't really know?”

“Thought it'd be rude not to after they invited me to their home,” explained Ian, “Wanna take this one for me?”

Mickey reluctantly grabbed the box, then watched as Ian grabbed two smaller ones and shut his trunk.

“What are they?” questioned Mickey stubbornly, quietly.

“Umm, the big one is some kind of gift set with candles, mugs, cocoa, stuff like that. And then I got a bottle of perfume and an electric shaver.”

Mickey regarded him for another moment and Ian sighed. “What?” he asked.

“Nothin',” shrugged Mickey, “Just really nice of ya.”

Ian smiled proudly, but then looked amused as he admitted, “Bought it all with John's credit card.”

They both laughed heartily at that admission and headed towards the driveway spilling over with many vehicles. They had just made it to a walkway that lead to the front door when Mickey found himself freezing at a sudden realization. Slowly he turned and narrowed his eyes at Ian.

“You didn't get me anything with his card, did you?”

“What? No. That would just be weird,” dismissed Ian, and Mickey deflated a bit. “I got your present with my own money.”

“You got me a present?” asked Mickey loudly.

“Yeah,” returned Ian slowly, his eyes darting off to the side.

“Well, I didn't know we were exchanging gifts, so you can't give me anything,” stated Mickey, going as far as to widen his stance, as if that made any difference in a verbal disagreement.

“What?” barked Ian with disbelief, “How come?”

“Cause I didn't get you anything.”

“Uh, yes you did. A vacation away from my condo.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “That's not the same.”

“It is to me,” returned Ian gently, with glossy eyes that begged him louder than his words ever could.

Mickey hated the way it made him thaw, caving right into Ian's softness. He sent Ian a look with his lips pressed tightly, then continued on towards the dark green door decorated with a wreath. After knocking on the door he glanced at Ian beside him and found him wearing a pleased smile, again, as if he was aware of the power he had to make Mickey cave.

The door suddenly popped open to reveal Val, whose bright brown eyes lit up as they met Mickey's.

“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey!” chirped Val happily as she yanked him inside and into a hug that ended with several kisses to his cheek. He laughed and gave her a half-hug that was really just him patting the gift bag against her back.

She then grabbed hold of his shoulders and looked right into his eyes before adding, “I can't get him to join the rest of us.”

Mickey sighed loudly, which made her smile return. “Yeah, alright, I'll try to get him to chill the hell out.”

Val released a giggle and looked like she was going to kiss his face again, but then her eyes flickered over to Ian and she practically pushed Mickey out of the way to open her arms to him, singing, “ _¡Hola guapo!”_

Mickey struggled to fight back his amusement as he watched Val squeeze the life out of Ian, who looked shocked and maybe a little scared.

“I'm so happy you came!” cheered Val as she released him.

“Thank you for inviting me,” beamed Ian sincerely. He held up the gifts that somehow survived the affectionate attack from Val and offered, “These are for you two.”

“Oh!” Val rattled off a string of words in spanish before eyeing the ones in Mickey's hands, too. “Sweet boys! You can put them by the tree?”

“Val!” called out a voice from another room, causing her to look over her shoulder urgently.

She then smiled at them and said, “Come in, come in. There's food in the kitchen, drinks in the dining room, and Damon's out back by his dumb fire. Okay? Okay.”

Val didn't give them a chance to say a word as she spun and rushed off into the side of the house Mickey knew their kitchen resided.

“Wow,” grinned Ian, “She's like a friendly tornado.”

Mickey laughed and nodded in agreement, “Still haven't gotten used to it, I swear.”

He lead the way over to the tree where they placed the gifts before saying, “Alright, you can help me wrangle the sad beast.”

Mickey motioned for Ian to follow as he headed to the left towards the brightly lit dining room, where they found a man sitting at the table, face down. They exchanged amused looks as Mickey stopped in front of the end that was set up like a bar. There was a large, half-filled bowl of punch, and several bottles of liquor. But, he reached into the ice chest at the end that was filled with beer, holding up one in silent question for Ian.

Ian nodded and reached out to take it. Mickey grabbed one of his own and opened it on the way to the sliding patio doors at the end of the room. He dropped the cap into his pocket and slid open the door just in time for a large man to squeeze in, which initially made Mickey scowl.

“He's a fucking mess,” huffed the man, before continuing on his journey.

“Great,” drawled Mickey sarcastically before stepping out.

There was a small fire pit that was surrounded by lawn chairs; one was occupied by the heaping mess that was Damon, with his head resting in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him from keeling over into the fire.

“Jesus, Damon,” groaned Mickey, causing the man to whip his attention towards their direction.

“Mickey!” exclaimed Damon, shooting up out of his chair to open his arms in a similar fashion to his wife just moments before.

Mickey sighed dramatically as he was swallowed up in Damon's arms and heavy coat. Damon dropped his head down on Mickey's shoulder and Mickey reluctantly raised a hand to pat the man's back.

“It's not fair,” whined Damon, though it was muffled by Mickey's coat. “All I've ever wanted was a family.”

“It'll work out,” returned Mickey, while he glanced back towards Ian, who had taken a seat not far from them. He grinned at Mickey and tipped his beer. Mickey playfully glared, but then he felt Damon shaking against him.

“What am I gonna do, Mick?” whimpered Damon, “I'm never gonna have a kid.”

“Come on, man, it's not like—Are you fuckin' crying?”

“I'm upset!” defended Damon loudly as he finally pulled away from Mickey, who just raised an eyebrow at him as he watched the man wipe away the tears from below his eyes and harden his expression.

“Uhh, no shit,” returned Mickey, “How bout you sit down and take a deep breath, alright?”

Damon crossed his arms and raised his chin a bit as he went on to stare at Mickey with a slightly raised brow and a challenging look. Both of Mickey's brows went high and he rolled his eyes before he met Damon's gaze, having to put his head back to look up at him.

“What?”

“Take this shit seriously, Mickey, I'm pissed,” demanded Damon loudly, which only sparked Mickey's instinctive defensiveness.

“I'm not trying to diminish it, but you're drunk and starting to piss _me_ off, so sit the fuck down.”

Damon either leaned forward as an intimidation tool, or he drunkenly swayed. Either way Mickey sent him a look and spoke, “You want me to knock you out? Or do you wanna have a fuckin' conversation?”

Damon's hardened expression broke at those words and his face began to scrunch up. Mickey quickly reached out, like he was comforting a toddler before their tantrum could start, and ushered Damon back towards the lawn chair behind him. “Take a seat, Gigantor,” he murmured as he helped Damon into the seat.

Mickey turned to head to the chair beside Ian and found the redhead's amused expression had only increased. Mickey barely fought away a smile of his own as he dropped into his chosen chair, slumping down comfortably away from the soreness that he admittedly enjoyed. He fished out his pack of cigarettes and shoved one between his lips, smiling a little wider as Ian casually reached over to steal one.

“All I ever wanted, damnit,” murmured Damon, pulling Mickey's attention back to him. He was shaking his head as he went on to speak in Spanish. This went on for two hits from Mickey's cigarette and a few swigs of his beer, while he simply watched Damon. Until he ran a hand over his smooth dome and looked at them. He shook his head again and shrugged. “I feel defective.”

“Jesus, man, you know your babyjuice doesn't _actually_ make you a father, right?” Mickey scoffed and motioned towards Ian, “Hell, we can both tell you all about it. Both our dads are, like, notoriously shitty people, and shitty dads.”

Ian laughed and said, “Technically, Frank's not even my biological dad.”

Mickey did a double take at that, “The fuck?”

“We're pretty sure it was Frank's brother, so.”

“See what I'm sayin'? I bet Ian still considered Frank somewhat of a dad—albeit, a shitty one. More than his biological dad, though, right?”

“Yeah,” nodded Ian, “It's not about the sperm, it's about actually _parenting_. Really, my sister was more of a parent to me than Frank or his brother ever were.”

Damon began to nod his head and Mickey felt like they might be the perfect people for this conversation.

“See?” spoke Mickey, “No matter how the kid's made, ya just gotta focus on being a _good dad_. If you do, then there's no way the kid or anyone else will ever argue that you're the dad.”

“Yeah, like say me and Mickey adopted kids,” began Ian, causing Mickey to quickly look to him with wide eyes which the redhead seemed to ignore, “Would you tell us we aren't parents?”

“Fuck no,” rebuked Damon.

“It's the same shit,” shrugged Ian, “The whole idea that you have to biologically create a kid to be a parent is such an old world thing, right?”

“You're right,” nodded Damon with a heavy sigh, “Hell, all these feelings are probably from all the bullshit my dad beat into my head about being a man. He was stuck in his ways, ya know?”

Mickey's brows jumped in understanding as he shifted his gaze to the fire in front of him. He sucked on his cigarette and murmured, “I'd give my left foot to reset time and have a different dad.”

He used to think about it all the time; just how different his entire life would be if he had had anyone other than Terry as a father. Everything would have been different—less of a struggle.

Damon suddenly reached out and clapped a hard hand onto Mickey's back, shaking him from his trance. He gave Mickey a knowing look accompanied with a frown.

“Mine used to hit me, too. Hated that son of a bitch.”

Mickey nodded, tempted to press that it was so much more than being hit a few times, but he instead pointed out, “I'm sure that's actually why you wanna be a dad so much. Tryin' to correct it. Prolly wanna be a good dad in a way you never had, right?”

“Yeah,” breathed Damon, “You're right.”

“Then _you are_ going to be a dad,” chimed Ian, “If you care that much you're going to be a great dad.”

Damon smiled at that. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” returned Ian, “You just gotta counteract all those toxic thoughts. Like, now you know the problem, so now you know exactly what you need to do to have a kid, and that means your waiting time is finally over, right?”

“True. We've wanted a little one for a lot of years.”

“It might be disappointing, but at least it's not a dead end.”

“You're right,” breathed Damon, “And I guess I have been pretty ridiculous about all this shit.”

“No shit,” Mickey murmured into his beer before taking a large drink.

“Well, you just found out something about yourself,” spoke Ian, “Can't blame yourself for needing time to adjust.”

Damon suddenly grinned at Mickey and reached out again to hit his arm.

“I like him,” he said with a nod towards Ian, “I see why you couldn't help yourself.”

Mickey hid behind his cigarette as shyness flickered through his system, but still had to glance at Ian, who looked just as pleased by Damon's words as Mickey expected.

“I like the size of his head, don't inflate it,” joked Mickey to avoid the rising temperature in his face.

“I think I can stand to gain a size,” quipped Ian, “Tell me more about how you can't help yourself with me.”

Thankfully, an interruption had the three of them looking towards the house. The sound of the patio door had suddenly echoed out to them, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “What's up, M'nerds!”

“Amy!” cheered Damon, “Get your ass over here!”

“Shit,” whispered Mickey, bringing Ian to look at him worriedly.

He had thought about it off and on all week, always coming to the conclusion that Amy would without a doubt keep the secret. But, he was more concerned about her reaction than anything else, truthfully.

She came into view with a glass full of punch and a cheerful look that instantly dimmed at the sight of Ian. She made her stop near him, her face screwed up in surprise and confusion as she went on to look at Damon for answers. Mickey pulled in a breath of preparation, wondering if he should just blurt it all out, but then she broke the silence.

“Um, hey, Mr. Woods,” greeted Amy with a clearly forced smile, while Ian softly winced at her in return. “It's nice to see you, again. Is your husband here?”

Damon burst out laughing, falling forward enough that Mickey quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back, to make sure he didn't fall into the fire.

“Uh, no he isn't here,” answered Ian, looking to Mickey for guidance.

Once Damon was properly seated again, still cackling away, Mickey turned his attention to his confused coworker and vaguely explained, “He's here with me.”

“Oh.”

Mickey tensely watched the pieces click together for Amy slowly, and if she looked surprised before, now she was downright _shocked_.

“Wait,” she said loudly, “Wait, wait, wait. The guy you've been seeing is our boss's husband?”

Mickey nodded, then barely defended himself as Amy swiftly moved closer and smacked his arm.

“What the hell are you thinking, Mickey?” chastised Amy, hitting him again and again, “Are you insane? He's going to blow up when he finds out!”

“Hey, hey, stop fuckin' hitting me!” barked Mickey, “Obviously, I fuckin' know that, alright? I'm not an idiot.”

“But, you're _still_ seeing him,” returned Amy with wide eyes, “Like an idiot. God, Mickey, you definitely got hired after cake-mageddon.”

Mickey sent her a quizzical look laced in annoyance. She locked her free hand on her hip and moved a step back, so he looked at Damon, who was grinning with amusement, still.

“ _Someone_ ate the last slice of his birthday cake and he lost his shit. Made us sit through this dumb meeting about stealing in the office, and berated everyone for being inconsiderate.”

“He didn't label it!” exclaimed Amy suddenly, “How was I supposed to know?”

Mickey quickly looked to the guilty expression on Amy's face and lost it laughing himself; Damon immediately joined, and he heard the soft chuckles of Ian.

“He made us work overtime the whole week,” continued Amy, “and said if the guilty party came forward that he'd stop, but I wasn't going to rat myself out like that. He'd probably suspend me.”

“Over cake,” laughed Mickey loudly.

“Was it worth it, Amy?” teased Damon.

“I mean, it was good,” admitted Amy as a smile sneakily slipped over her expression. “Anyhow, that's not the point. If he freaked out over cake, imagine what he'll do when he finds out you're doing his _husband_.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, his amusement fading away at that. “He can kiss my ass.”

“It's a, uh, complicated situation,” spoke Ian, “But, we're being careful.”

“Mhm, until you get comfortable and slip up.”

“Too much on the line, we won't slip up,” argued Ian, “I won't let Mickey get screwed over like that.”

“These two are way too into each other, Ames,” said Damon, “Don't even waste your breath. I tried talking Mickey out of it a few times, but the little shit is too happy with this guy to care.”

Mickey sent Damon a scowl to cover up how his face glowed with embarrassment. He felt Ian nudge his leg with his foot and cautiously turned his attention to him. Ian was smiling openly, his gaze soft and magnetic.

“I make you happy?”

“Don't look so smug, Gallagher,” returned Mickey with mock annoyance. Ian smiled even wider, clearly pleased with himself, and Mickey felt himself breaking, smiling a bit in return.

“See what I mean?” murmured Damon, causing Mickey to shoot him yet another glare.

“Well, when did this all start?” asked Amy as she found a chair of her own to sit in. “ _How_ did it start?”

“Mickey told me off in line at the lobby coffee cart,” said Ian with an affectionate tone that had Mickey glancing at him with curious want.

“Hold on, is he the rich asshole that bought your coffee?” grinned Amy.

Mickey nodded, thumbing nervously at his bottom lip as she went on to laugh.

“Is that how you guys talked about me?” questioned Ian with an amused look for Mickey, “ _The rich asshole_?”

“I mean, that's how the fuck you came off at the time,” defended Mickey.

Ian let out a laugh and flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the fire. Mickey followed suit with his own before hiding in his beer for a moment, emptying it to nearly halfway. When he lowered it and licked his lips clean he noticed Ian's head turned in his direction. Mickey felt his stomach flutter as he found Ian softly smiling at him, clearly lost in reflection of their strange first interactions.

“Where's Keisha at?” asked Damon unexpectedly, likely to fill the air with something as the other two men still stared at each other.

“Inside,” answered Amy, “She got sucked into the buffet your wife is serving. And the tequila shots.”

Damon chuckled, “Val can be a pusher.”

 

**

Ian really felt relaxed, and strangely fulfilled as being a part of a different side of Mickey's life like this made what they had feel all that much more real. But, as the conversation turned to work talk and Ian found it impossible to keep up with any of it, he announced he was going to go inside for another drink. He scooped up the empty beer bottles between their chairs before heading towards the house.

Mickey was quiet as the other two continued babbling, so Ian looked back when he reached the patio doors, and found the blue eyed man watching him. Ian smiled and sent him a wink, to which Mickey smiled in return at and lowered his gaze to the fresh cigarette in his hand.

Inside Ian followed the sounds of music and voices to the large kitchen where he found people sitting on nearly every surface, chatting and eating. Val spotted him immediately, exclaiming his name and rushing across the room to him.

“Hey, where do you put your empty bottles?” asked Ian, holding up the beer bottles.

“Oh, thank you, I'll take them.”

Ian smiled as he handed them off to her, then looked around the rest of the room at everyone. They all seemed to be studying him curiously, so he raised a hand in a half wave and awkwardly announced, “Hi, uh, _everyone_. I'm Ian.”

A few people greeted him in return, but Val suddenly spoke from where she was rinsing the bottles at the sink, and introduced everyone in the room. Even just a moment after he only remembered two or three names. Most were cousins, a few worked with Val, and then there was Amy's girlfriend. He headed straight for her side, figuring she'd be his best bet for comfort. She was sitting in one of the stools at the counter overflowing with food, and smiled knowingly at him as he sat in a stool of his own beside her.

“How's it going?” he greeted.

“Val's been loading me up with liquor and food, so I'm pretty damn good.”

He chuckled and contemplated going to get another beer, but then Val was stepping up to the opposite side of the counter and asking, “Can I get you something to eat, Ian?”

“Try the pozole,” suggested Keisha, “It'll rock your world.”

Ian smiled at Val and shrugged, “Sure, I'd love to try it.”

She beamed at him and went to work dishing him up a bowl, which she topped with onion, avocado, and fresh cilantro. As she set it in front of him with a spoon he already felt full just by looking at it. He barely had time to thank her before someone announced their departure, stealing her attention.

Ian cast a glance to Keisha, who just smirked a bit as he scooped up his first spoonful.

Keisha hadn't been exaggerating. He inhaled half of it in no time, and felt even more fulfilled and comfortable in this setting. Especially, as he got to know Keisha; what she did for a living, how long she'd been with Amy, and where she grew up.

Ian realized just how much he'd missed this type of social setting. It was familiar and reminiscent of his childhood, with a kitchen full of babbling enthusiastic people that were themselves through and through. He'd been stuck in stuffy social settings for the last year, with superficial, flaky, people all lowly talking themselves up. This was real. This was meaningful and warm, and a little messy.

He was steadily smiling as he headed back to the dining room to grab two more beers for him and Keisha, finding the same man still passed out on the table. He spied people hanging out in the living room, draped over the furniture, and some even dancing to the music that had been turned up at some point. He returned to the kitchen, pausing to look at where a woman was sitting on the counter telling a story that made a small group laugh unrestrained, then to where Val was sharply speaking Spanish to a man who was reluctantly gathering trash to take out.

“Having a good time?” chuckled Keisha as he returned to her side and passed a beer to her.

“I really am,” beamed Ian.

Keisha turned in her stool to rest her back against the wall behind her, giving him an amused look as she sipped from her new beer.

“Just haven't really been in a fun atmosphere like this in a long time,” Ian vaguely explained.

She raised her perfectly shaped black brows and clearly looked like she had questions, however something else caught her attention. She nodded her head towards something, so he turned to find Mickey and Amy standing in the dining room. Ian's radiant joy brightened even more, though Mickey wandered off somewhere Ian couldn't see. He contemplated getting up to follow, however Amy strolled into the kitchen with a freshly filled cup of punch and a fresh beer.

“Boy, the party really picked up,” stated Amy as she neared them, widening her eyes comically.

Keisha reached out to pull Amy to her side and said, “Yeah, you're missing out.”

“Where'd Mick go?” questioned Ian, unable to to resist asking for another moment.

“Bathroom break,” answered Amy, “Damon finally shut up long enough for us to step away.”

They all chuckled and Ian found himself turning away as the two women went on to speak into each other's ears. He wanted to watch the doorways for Mickey's return, anyhow.

Before he appeared there was a loud uproar from the people in the living room, catching the attention of everyone in the kitchen. Mickey walked in grimacing and headed straight for them.

“Val made me take a shot before I left the living room,” explained Mickey, reaching a hand out to the beer Amy still held. He took a large swig from it while Keisha laughed.

“She's feisty,” she chimed, “Did the same thing to me as soon as I got here.”

Mickey nodded, roughly swallowing down the beer, but his gaze shot right to Ian, who had turned to keep his eyes on him.

“You good in here?” asked Mickey.

“Yeah,” grinned Ian, “I'm having fun.”

Mickey's eyes sparkled at him as he smiled in return. “Alright, good. Told Damon I'd be right back, so.”

“Try to get him inside,” suggested Amy, “You know, and actually join _his_ party.”

Mickey nodded exasperatingly and turned to leave again, but Ian instinctively reached out to snatch a handful of his coat. He pulled until Mickey was leaned in close to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. As he released him, he watched Mickey's lips slowly curl upward while he eyed Ian. He said nothing as he walked away, but his eyes spoke knowingly to Ian, pleased and hopeful. Ian gave him an unbridled grin in return as he watched him go.

“Yeah, I see it, now,” spoke Amy, luring Ian's gaze to her. She smirked at him and Ian felt that much more comfortable and welcomed.

Another half hour passed without Mickey, in which Ian constantly considered going outside. Just to look at him, if nothing else. But he was endlessly entertained by everyone inside. Val even returned to them as Amy took up standing at the end of the counter to consume a plate of food.

“Damon still pouting?” asked Val, running her hands through her thick dark hair.

“Less sulking, more rambling, now,” murmured Amy through a mouthful of food, “Mickey's trying to get him inside.”

“He said he still wanted the party, I don't know,” shrugged Val confusedly, swaying a bit where she stood. Although as she went on to lean forward on the counter in front of Ian, she smiled and said, “Damon says you make Mickey come into work smiling. So cute.”

“Really?” returned Ian as his heart skipped happily like a child on a sidewalk.

“It's true,” confirmed Amy, nodding her head in exaggeration.

“He's usually so...” started Val, trailing off to scrunch up her face into a comically angry scowl that made Ian laugh and nod.

“Oh, yeah. That's how he was for the first month I knew him.”

“So, who made the first move?” inquired Amy, though the look in her eye said she already knew the answer. He was _the rich asshole_ who bought Mickey's coffee, after all.

“Me,” answered Ian, pulling his gaze away from Amy before he continued, “Obviously, given my situation, he was apprehensive. Understandably. But, I...I dunno, I can't help myself with him.”

“Situation?” repeated Amy, “That what you call marriage?”

He sent her an uncomfortable glance and mumbled a bit as he replied, “In my case, yeah. It's not a love story, believe me. Mickey understood when I explained it to him, thankfully, but I know it's still wrong and it won't go on like this forever.”

“You gonna leave John for Mickey?” questioned Amy with raised brows.

There was a fear of admitting such a thing not only to one of John's employees, but out loud in general, which had him hesitating and losing his voice a bit as he replied, “I want to leave John.”

“Still so fresh, though,” noted Val with advised caution, “New love makes you do crazy things.”

Ian nodded, but clarified, “I want to leave him, because I _want to leave him_. Being with Mickey would just be an awesome bonus.”

Amy was regarding him in a completely new way, as if she was decoding him with her eyes. He still couldn't help the painful buzz of his nerves and desperately questioned, “You're not going to repeat that, right? Mickey said we could trust you, but still. I mean, you actually know John. I can't let this get back to him.”

Amy blew out a sharp breath through her lips in dismissal, “Screw that guy. I'm not saying a word. And it's none of my damn business anyways.”

Ian nodded, but still felt like he was walking along the edge of a roof.

“Anyways, tell us all about Mickey's romantic side,” urged Amy unexpectedly, “I can't even imagine it, so you gotta give us some _deets_.”

“Um.” Ian thought for a moment, then smiled, “He's really considerate with small gestures, which I love. Like he's always trying to make me comfortable. And believe it or not, his touch is _so_ gentle.”

Amy furrowed her brow with disbelief as she stared at him, endlessly chewing the bite of food in her mouth. This only amused Ian more.

“He kisses like a fucking champion. I swear, I feel it all the way down to my toes every single time.”

Val hummed and made a gesture like she was shivering, making Ian laugh through his nose and nod.

“He's, uh, opening up to me more and more in little bits, but still a tough egg to crack. And he's really _deceptively_ sweet, you know?”

“I literally cannot imagine him sweet talking anybody,” huffed Amy, “It'd probably go something like, _'hey, fuckhead, nice face'_.”

Ian laughed thoroughly and shook his head. “Sometimes, maybe. But, no he can say really soft things when he's comfortable. And it's really fun sweet talking _him_ and watching him get all shy.”

“I used to say to Damon, ' _Eres el hombre de mis sueños,'_ and every time he would smile like a fool. You should say this to Mickey and watch him melt like chocolate, _”_ suggested Val, ending her words with a wink.

Ian smirked, even if he was entirely unsure of what she said, and returned, “Wish I _could_ speak Spanish to him like that. You should teach me.”

He laughed as his suggestion had her face lighting up happily.

“Yes! I will! You don't speak any at all?”

“Uhhh, I can sing the breakdown part of Una Noche by 98 Degrees?”

Amy barked a laugh suddenly and exclaimed, “Oh my god, what a throwback!”

Ian laughed happily, glad someone knew exactly what he was talking about.

Val, who looked deeply confused, hesitantly spoke, “I don't know...”

“Ooh, let me pull it up on a playlist,” suggested Amy excitedly, “Can I connect to your bluetooth?”

Val still looked a little confused, but now smiled as she nodded repeatedly. As the two women figured out how to connect Amy's phone to the large bluetooth speaker, silencing the music that had been playing, Ian glanced at Keisha, who was shaking her head.

“You've set her off now,” said Keisha, “When she gets lost in the boybands it goes on and on.”

“I like feeling nostalgic,” defended Amy with a quick smile for her girlfriend.

“I bet you were a big _backstreet_ fan, huh, Amy?” mused Ian with a playful smile.

“How do you know that?” questioned Amy with a suspicious glare.

“A friend of mine had a theory about queer chicks preferring The Backstreet Boys.”

“That's bullshit,” argued Keisha immediately, “I loved N'sync with all my heart.”

“It was just a theory,” returned Ian with both hands raising in mock surrender.

“Forget about sexuality, it's about who has _substantial taste_ and who doesn't. If lyrics are important to you, direct yourself to The Backstreet Boys.”

“Whatever,” chuckled Ian, “N'sync had iconic lyrics. And they had better beats.”

“Uhm, excuse me, but _Everybody_ is the most iconic and infectious boyband song of all time.”

“Excuse me, but have you ever heard of a song called _Bye Bye Bye_?”

Amy laughed and slowly spoke, “Yeah, okay, they're both iconic. But, Backstreet had _the feels_.”

“And N'sync had _Justin Timberlake_ , so.”

Amy gave him a look that said she couldn't relate, and didn't even care to, which only made him grin.

“Uh, yeah, I'm with Ian on this one,” chimed Keisha mischievously, “I mean, _J.T._ , come on.”

Ian swiveled to look at her as he laughed, “Right?”

“You remember _Like I Love You_?”

“The fedora,” drawled Ian appreciatively, “ _That_ awakened my sexuality.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Amy, “I can't with you two.”

“Play that after Una Noche!” demanded Keisha.

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

**

“So, I might start looking for another job,” admitted Mickey quietly.

Damon frowned at him, just as he expected him to. But, he also saw the understanding flash in the older man's brown eyes.

“Already had one offer that I'm really considering,” added Mickey, though he wasn't quite sure about explaining the details of that offer.

“This about Ian?”

“It's a lot of fuckin' things,” breathed Mickey. “There're better jobs out there, man. Better pay, better bosses. Woods Tech. was a huge step up for me, and it'll help having it on my resume, but it's not where I want to end up, ya know?”

“Yeah,” nodded Damon, “I get ya.”

“And yeah, I'd feel a lot better about the Ian thing if I didn't feel so stressed about John inevitably firing me when he finds out,” said Mickey, feeling a bit relieved to actually say these thoughts out loud to someone. “I mean, say Ian does leave him. We're not gonna keep our shit private, are we? So, even if they get divorced, John'll still find out. Even if it's a long ways off. That fucker is going to keep tabs on Ian forever.”

Damon ran his fingers down his goatee, looking unsettled himself, and nodded. Mickey was right, he was absolutely sure no one could argue this.

“Well, keep the job hunt in Chicago and I'll follow you.”

Mickey raised a brow in disbelief, but when Damon smiled sincerely at him, he felt himself relax a bit more over the thought of starting fresh somewhere. He smiled in return and nodded, gratitude getting stuck in his throat.

“It's you and me, now, _Hermano_. We can't face the tech world alone, right?”

Mickey never had a chance to reply as the noise inside the house abruptly grew louder with a mix of thumping base and loud laughter. Slowly the two men looked to each other with confusion and a hint of concern.

“Should we, uh..?”

“Yeah, let's fuckin' go look,” agreed Mickey, shooting up out of his chair.

When they both stepped inside they froze at the sight they beheld in the living room, equally surprised and even more confused now.

“What the _fuck_?” said Mickey.

In the living room it seemed nearly everybody in the house had gathered and was dancing to some loud pop song. Half of them were singing obnoxiously, too, and Ian and Val seemed to be getting especially close. She had her arms around him and Ian was rolling his hips towards her without shame. Val was laughing as she slipped her hands inside of Ian's shirt, lifting it half way, which only seemed to encourage him to lean back and continue what he was doing.

“Uhhh, Mickey, I think my wife is tryin' to seduce your boyfriend.”

Mickey turned his gaze to Damon, who seemed to be fighting back laughter behind pinched lips.

“I mean, guess I can't blame her,” joked Mickey with a shrug.

Damon laughed heartily and threw his arm around Mickey's shoulder, just as the beat abruptly changed and everyone became somewhat still, except for Ian, Amy and Keisha, who all seemed to be enthusiastically, borderline _obnoxiously_ , quoting whatever was being said by the artist. But, then Ian spotted Mickey and he froze, his face went red and split into an explosive grin. He left everyone to the remaining moments of the song and headed into the living room.

“Hey!” exclaimed Ian as he rushed over to him with wide excited eyes.

“Hey,” chuckled Mickey, “Havin' fun?”

“Almost too much,” grinned Ian.

“No shit, you were grinding on a married woman.”

Ian laughed and shrugged innocently, glancing to Damon, “She's a good dancer.”

Damon beamed proudly and gave Ian a rough pat on the back before departing towards the bathroom Mickey had used earlier. Ian and Mickey looked to each other quietly for a moment, while Ian's breath gradually calmed.

“Finally made it inside,” murmured Ian.

“Yeah, thanks to your guys' random throwback music.”

“Oh! N'sync or Backstreet?” questioned Ian suddenly, eyes wide with interest.

Mickey just stared back at him, his eyes flickering away in confusion a few times, while Ian waited patiently.

“I'm sorry, am I s'pose to know the fuck that means?”

Ian laughed, snorting loudly, but then Amy and Keisha joined them in the living room, both equally smiling happily and stealing Ian's attention. He didn't hesitate to share his strange question with them, which had both women barely suppressing laughter. Mickey glowered at Ian well before the redhead returned his attention to him.

“He was probably too cool and angry to ever indulge in boyband goodness,” suggested Amy with ever flowing amusement.

Mickey truly felt the spotlight as the other two went on to laugh at her words, so he crossed his arms and raised a brow in question. Ian's smile remained as he looked over Mickey's demeanor, gliding closer, it seemed, instinctively.

Mickey tried hard to remain stone still, but as Ian's hands acquainted with his biceps before sliding down to his sides, he felt himself loosening up. He glanced bashfully at the two women as Ian's gaze blatantly moved around him with appreciation. But, then Ian spoke another unexpected set of words.

“I should buy you a fedora.”

Amy and Keisha cackled loudly at that, practically falling into each other, as if the idea was so hilarious they couldn't stand. Mickey anxiously looked to them with suspicion before questioning, “The fuck for?”

“Uh, no reason,” returned Ian with a cheeky smile that had Mickey scowling worriedly at him.

Until he was leaning down towards Mickey to casually press a kiss to his lips. Mickey's face was on fire, his heart racing excitedly, as Ian pulled away and smiled appreciatively at him.

He again took a nervous peek over at the other two and found them grinning, Amy nudged Keisha and leaned in to whisper something to her. Mickey's lips twitched to the side as he returned his attention to Ian and instantly crumbled under his locked on, steady green gaze.

“The fuck ever, Weirdo” dismissed Mickey with an uncontrollable smile of his own. He reached out for Ian's hand and instructed, “Show me this buffet of food I keep hearin' bout.”

*

The drive home was full of conversation that made it fly by. Before he knew it, they were pulling into the parking lot behind his apartment building and parking. Ian popped the trunk again and Mickey approached it nervously, wondering what nonsense Ian was about to pull out of it now. But, all Ian grabbed was a small black duffel bag before he shut it and locked the car.

Walking to the back entrance of the building they glanced at each other several times, smiling a little wider each time. Mickey held the door open for Ian, then led the rest of the way to the apartment.

There was a swell of excitement in the air as they entered the quiet apartment to finish out their night together. Mickey even felt a little nervous as he flipped on the lights and shed his coat. He collected Ian's coat, too, and the redhead smiled at him while he hung both up.

“Cool if I put my bag in your room?”

“Yeah, go for it,” nodded Mickey, “I'm gonna get a pop, you want anything?”

“Maybe a water?”

Mickey headed to the fridge to collect the drinks, glancing at the time displayed on the stove. It was still pretty early, considering. He felt lucky suddenly, and smiled to himself as he made his way to the couch. The far off distance of the expiration date for their alone time together made it so much easier to feel like this was just their normal every day; like Ian never had to go back to his fraudulent life.

“Up for some tv?” questioned Mickey, as Ian returned and dropped into the couch close beside him.

“Sounds good,” agreed Ian.

Mickey's contentment grew and grew as they found compatibility in their viewing choices, easily choosing an equally adored comedy to play. Ian sipped from his bottle of water a few times before pressing himself into Mickey's side with a steady smile.

If only young Mickey could see himself now, he considered. If he could go back in time and tell his young self that one day he would share something so domestic with a beautiful man, he was sure he would've faced his shitty life with a little more positivity and hope. Life really was unexpected, but he never knew it could be in such a rewarding way.

A half hour later Ian made himself even more comfortable, shifting to lay his head in Mickey's lap in a completely natural motion, stretching his long legs down the couch. He watched Ian snuggle his head into his thighs, eyes completely focused on the tv still, and smiled as he listened to Ian sigh thoroughly in satisfaction.

Mickey barely resisted for even a moment before dropping his hand down to run his fingers through Ian's hair. “Comfy?” he murmured.

“Mhmm...”

Mickey's smile grew as he returned his gaze to the television, allowing his hand to continue drifting through Ian's soft, bright hair.

This might've been the most comfortable _quiet_ he'd ever experienced with another person. They chuckled and commented on the show every now and then, but otherwise they were just drifting peacefully through time in a way that had always seemed absolutely impossible to him before.

“I had a lot of fun today,” spoke Ian at one point as he slid a hand onto Mickey's leg in front of him, “It felt... _normal_ being out with you like that. And this feels even more normal.”

“Yeah,” agreed Mickey softly, “Know what ya mean.”

Ian's eyes remained on the television, but now Mickey intensely studied the lines and shape of Ian's profile with pure admiration. He counted the freckles on his face, and traced the form of his ear with his fingertips, before returning them back to Ian's scalp. He couldn't stop looking at him, so the second Ian's eyes began to flutter shut he smiled pleasantly at the sight.

Mickey was almost surprised, and curious, to watch Ian drift off to sleep. Generally, it seemed the redhead had a never ending fountain of strength to face the day and night; as if he never needed to sleep.

He always seemed to be made of either tension or energy, so seeing him so peaceful, feeling his weight increase in total relaxation, was a true sight to behold. He wanted Ian to always feel this comfortable. Mickey didn't stop touching his hair, and he didn't stop observing him openly. Not even when Netflix paused and asked if he was still watching.

He wasn't sure he would ever get another chance to watch Ian so infinitely like this, so he indulged until he felt his own tiredness creeping in.

 

 

**

Ian woke up to silence, and significantly less body warmth than he'd had before he crashed. And there was an annoying buzzing against his hip that seemed to be the cause for him suddenly waking. He pulled in a breath before rolling onto his back, immediately meeting the edge of the couch, but stayed afloat and pulled his phone from his pocket.

He blinked blearily at the name on the screen and for a moment contemplated ignoring the incoming call, however, he knew he'd never hear the end of it.

“Hello?” spoke Ian brokenly.

“Were you sleeping?” returned John by way of greeting.

Ian rubbed at his eyes and forced himself to sit up. He looked around the dimly lit apartment, where the tv was paused and the main light shut off. The only light left on was a small one in the kitchen.

“Yeah, guess I fell asleep at some point,” murmured Ian into the phone while he frowned at the lack of Mickey. Had he gone to bed without him?

“So, you're going to stay at your brother's?”

Ian tensed, seemingly waking to the reality of who he was speaking to.

“Uh, yeah,” Ian cleared his throat and turned to put his feet on the floor, “Yeah, I'm too tired to drive home. I'll probably carpool with them to Debbie's tomorrow, anyhow. How's everything going there?”

“Fine,” breathed John, “My brother wouldn't stop bragging to my dad about his trip, though.”

Ian smiled a bit, knowing full well how much John's brother got under his skin.

“He's so smug,” said Ian, knowing it's what John would want to hear. “Like anyone actually cared.”

John huffed in amusement. “He's just avoiding talking about how his fiance left him, I'm sure.”

Ian forced a laugh and agreed, “That makes sense.”

A soft sound behind him had Ian quickly looking over his shoulder. He found Mickey approaching from the hall wearing dark pajama bottoms, a muscle shirt, and a questioning expression. Ian quickly raised his index finger to his lips and Mickey nodded.

“My cousin was asking about you,” continued John.

“Elaine?”

“That's right. You must've made a good impression on her last year.”

“Yeah,” laughed Ian, “She was the only one who'd talk to me, so it wasn't hard.”

“It wasn't that bad, geez, Ian.”

“Oh yeah? Then why'd your mother specifically ask you not to bring me this year, huh?”

“Yeah, okay,” grumbled John, “Well, anyways, I'm going to have a drink with my dad, now. I just thought I'd check in and see where you ended up tonight.”

Ian glanced back at Mickey again, who was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Alright, then I'll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I'll call you at some point.”

Ian barely made it through the goodbyes before standing. He made sure the call had ended and cautiously walked around the couch towards Mickey.

“Everything alright?” asked Mickey tightly.

“Oh, yeah,” nodded Ian, “John was just checking in to see if I ended up staying at Lip's.”

Mickey grimaced a bit as he inquired, “Did he believe you?”

“Mhm. I've stayed at Lip's a lot on weekends, so it's not weird, or anything.”

Mickey nodded a few times and unraveled his tense arms, glancing around his place in inspection.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” offered Ian shyly.

Mickey shook his head immediately. “Not a problem.”

“Did you want me to sleep on the couch?” asked Ian dejectedly, nervously motioning to the couch behind him.

Mickey instantly looked confused as he glanced at the couch like it was a foreign object.

“No, why?”

“Oh, I just thought you went to bed without me. And, I dunno, maybe you liked having your space?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” returned Mickey with a scowl, “I was falling asleep with you on the couch, so I went to get ready for bed. I was going to come wake you up then I heard you on the phone.”

“Oh,” smiled Ian bashfully.

“You always wake up so insecure?” teased Mickey as he turned and headed down the hall.

Ian watched him for a moment, letting his eyes trail over the way his ass looked in his cotton pajama bottoms appreciatively, before he rushed to catch up with him.

“I was just confused,” clarified Ian with a lighthearted tone.

Mickey entered his bedroom, but Ian made a detour to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder he moved to the sink where he'd left the smaller toiletry bag he had placed in the bathroom earlier. With a quick glance over his shoulder, confirming Mickey was still in his bedroom, he pulled out the mesh bag filled with his pill bottles and quickly inhaled his night time medication, leaning down to suck in some water from the faucet. He then wiped the excess water from his face and headed to the bedroom.

Mickey was under the covers, looking at something on his phone, and Ian wondered if this was exactly how it looked on _the other side_ when he texted Mickey secretly from his bathroom and balcony.

Ian froze near the end of the bed as the surrealism of the situation weighed down on his mind, almost making him feel unsteady. Mickey's eyes shifted from his phone to Ian, and his heart shot up into his throat. This was real; very, very real.

A quiet moment passed while Ian processed the barrage of emotions inside of him and Mickey watched with a curious gaze. Ian conclusively smiled, though, and released his shock on the wave of a long breath. It was real, it wasn't a dream. But, it was just for the weekend, after all. The actual reality was that Sunday night he would be returning to his cold condo with his cold husband, and back to dreaming of being here with Mickey.

Ian swallowed down his lingering emotion that was now being tainted by his practical thoughts and smiled a little playfully as he joked, “It's still a sleepover even if I'm not wearing pajamas, right?”

Mickey looked a little confused, his gaze momentarily shooting over to where Ian's duffel bag was sitting beside his dresser. But, as Ian stripped away his shirt and headed for the other side of the bed, a smile cracked through Mickey's expression. Ian yanked off his socks and unbuttoned his pants before Mickey replied, “Don't have to wear a damn thing, just get the fuck in this bed already.”

Ian downright grinned as he kicked away his pants and dove into the bed beside Mickey, landing right beside him. Mickey laughed softly and set his phone on his nightstand while Ian shimmied under the blankets, happily coming together with Mickey's body heat.

He couldn't stop himself for even a second as he reached out to Mickey and slid his hand up under his muscle shirt. He felt even softer than usual, which had Ian yearning for more contact. He wrapped that arm around Mickey and yanked the man closer, until their bodies were flush, and Mickey rolled onto his side. Their faces were just inches away now as Mickey's leg slid between his and Ian's hand roamed higher on Mickey's back.

They seemed to both move in for a kiss at the same time, with parted lips and equal pressure. But, it was definitely Ian who deepened the kiss, swallowing Mickey's bottom lip with a short groan of pleasure. Everything felt so good, felt so right. Not a single thing was off in this setting. Ian couldn't recall feeling so pleased all the way down to his bones before.

He was purely happy.

Ian's fingers spread wider as he moved his hand down Mickey's back, all the way under the elastic of his pants to grasp his soft, warm ass. His body shifted in even tighter against Mickey's, and the feather soft man let out a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Got your nap and now you're ready to go, huh?” teased Mickey lowly.

Ian smiled widely, not even bothering to open his eyes, and returned, “You just feel so good.”

“Yeah?” rasped Mickey quietly, his own hand smoothly rolling over Ian's bare skin, “You feel pretty good, too.”

Ian knew at this point he had less than twenty minutes until the severe drowsiness of his night time medication kicked in, which would dim his usual strength and ambition in bed. But, he also knew from experience how well Mickey could ride him, even upon first waking. This reflection had him taking hold of Mickey's body again and rolling them, until Mickey was above him, straddling Ian beneath his fluffy comforter. Ian's hand was on the back of Mickey's head, pulling him in for an even more passionate kiss that had them rutting against one another.

Both of his hands moved to be on Mickey's hips and he held tight for a moment while he rolled himself up into him again.

“Mm, how about you show me just _how good_ you think I feel?” whispered Ian in challenge.

He felt Mickey smiling against his mouth before he sat up more. Ian finally opened his eyes and as he looked to Mickey sitting atop him, confidence and lust blaring from his gorgeous eyes, he could hardly contain what was surely a dreamy expression.

 _Happy_. Ian was so happy.

 

 


	15. You Make Me Think that Maybe I Won't Die Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry for the delay in updates! This was actually meant to be the first half of the next chapter, but it's large enough and the content makes it possible to be a sort of prequel to the next. Plus, I just wanted to get something up for you guys :) It's mostly a domestic fluff chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Mickey couldn't recall ever waking up so comfortable before in his life. Everything was quiet and still, with his blackout curtains keeping the morning light at bay. He was curled in tight with Ian, his back and ass pressed in close to Ian's flesh, with Ian's knees tucked into the back of his. The heat circulating between their nude bodies was the perfect temperature to ease back into sleep.

But, his full bladder kept him from slipping back off into the unconscious pleasure. He opened his eyes and immediately looked to Ian's hand resting on the bed in front of him. He gently touched it, running his fingertips along the lines of it, and drew in a peaceful breath. He very carefully lifted that arm off of him, sliding out from under it and onto the floor. Ian groaned a bit, but otherwise didn't stir much.

Mickey reapplied his discarded pajama pants and rubbed his tired face as he shuffled into the bathroom. He swore he could've fallen asleep standing up as he relieved himself. He barely had half a mind to flush the toilet before heading over to the sink. He let the water run for a moment, wanting it to warm up first, and Ian's toiletry bag caught his eye. It was left unzipped on the side of the sink, so he could plainly see the smaller mesh bag inside that held three pill bottles. He had a hard time taking his eyes off of them as he washed his hands. And by the time he dried them he found himself reaching in to pull out the smaller bag, until a small voice in the back of his head told him to stop.

It would be a clear invasion of privacy, it spoke to him. And he almost felt panicked by the thought of Ian catching him going through his stuff like an asshole. Mickey walked away, mostly to get away from the temptation. But, as he made a cup of coffee and sat down in his favorite dining room chair his mind swarmed with curious thoughts about the pills.

He thought back to that uncomfortable dinner in which John had casually spoken about Ian taking _happy pills_. This made him think of those concerning shadows he spied in Ian's expression every now and then. Or the way he looked when he mentioned moments in his past. He didn't know much about clinical depression, but surely that's what was going on. Certainly Ian's current living situation wouldn't help that. But, there were _three_ bottles. Was that normal for depression?

Mickey's mind continued to ping-pong back and forth curiously as he went on to prepare breakfast. Until the sounds of Ian in the bathroom on the other side of the kitchen wall had his heart jumping excitedly and the weight of his mind lifting away with happy expectations.

He plated his own omelet and started the next before Ian moseyed into the kitchen with messy hair, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. Mickey gave him a once over and smiled a bit.

“Mornin'.”

“Morning,” returned Ian in a deep tired voice as he came to a stop in front of the coffee machine.

Mickey pointed out the cupboard that held the coffee mugs, then told him where to find the creamer, sugar, and the flavored syrup collection he had. Ian was smiling sleepily at him the whole time, as if every single word Mickey spoke was his favorite. It made Mickey blush like an idiot and return his eyes to the task in front of him.

He listened to the groaning of his coffee machine gearing up to fill Ian's mug and cleared his throat a bit. “What'cha like in your omelets?”

Ian suddenly crowded him and casually slipped his arms around the front of Mickey, nuzzling his head against his. Ian breathed loud enough for Mickey to hear and moaned a bit as he spoke, “Making me breakfast?”

Mickey loved the way it felt having Ian holding onto him like this; touching him softly, but latching on like he'd never let go.

He was smiling happily as he replied, “You think I'm gonna let you fend for yourself like some asshole?”

Ian huffed out a laugh and again nuzzled against Mickey's head, his lips coming to be close to Mickey's ear. “You prepare all this stuff this morning?”

Mickey glanced to the barrage of toppings he had on the counter beside the stove, most in small glass tupperware dishes and shook his head.

“I like having omelets for breakfast, so I keep it all ready to go.”

“Mmm, that's sexy,” murmured Ian as he dipped his head, then pressed a warm kiss to the side of Mickey's neck. Mickey barely fought down a shiver that went through him before Ian detached himself and headed back to the coffee pot.

“Why's that sexy?”

“You're like a little domestic housewife or somethin',” returned Ian with a shrug and a playful smirk.

Mickey raised a middle finger for Ian, though still held onto his spatula in the process. Ian chuckled while lifting his fresh coffee to his lips.

“So, you want anything in this bitch or not?” questioned Mickey, motioning to the skillet.

“Gimme the works,” smiled Ian before carefully enunciating his next word, “ _Dear_.”

Mickey scowled at the endearment for only a moment before laughing. Ian quietly watched him, sipping his coffee, while Mickey finished up his omelet. He glanced at him every few moments and felt a spark in his chest every single time. Yeah, he could get used to this, too.

Mickey placed forks on both plates once Ian's was dished up, and scooped up the plates with a nod towards the dining room table. Ian promptly sat at the table and smiled a little wider when Mickey placed his in front of him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” returned Mickey as he sat, taking a moment to drink from his own coffee mug before he grabbed his fork.

He had eaten an entire end of his omelet before he realized that Ian hadn't touched his. A rush of doubt moved through Mickey before he self-consciously questioned, “Somethin' wrong with your food?”

“It looks awesome, Mick,” smiled Ian reassuringly. He looked away, tapping a finger anxiously on his coffee mug as he paused. “I, uh, just need a minute. I like to drink some coffee before I eat.”

Mickey eyed Ian suspiciously for a moment, his thoughts again bouncing back and forth, until he found the courage to question, “Meds kill your appetite?”

The way that Ian looked at him then returned the panic he had felt in the bathroom. Mickey drew in a breath of preparation as Ian went on staring at him with large eyes and a strange hint of betrayal. His mouth was shut tight, so Mickey leaned forward, thumbing at his lip nervously.

“I didn't go through your shit, I just...The bag was open and I saw pill bottles.” He shrugged a bit, dropping his gaze to his plate. “None of my fuckin' business, though.”

Mickey thought the best way to handle the situation was to act like it wasn't happening; like he hadn't just pushed his boundaries with Ian. So, he scooped up his fork and cut off another piece of his loaded omelet to shove into his mouth.

“One of them does, yeah,” spoke Ian very quietly, yanking Mickey's gaze right back to him. Now Ian was staring down at the floor. He looked so tense, so uncomfortable, and Mickey frowned. “But, it passes pretty quickly.”

“That's good,” said Mickey, unsure of what else to say. “Now I know, so I'll wait a bit on breakfast next time, alright?”

Ian raised his gaze back to Mickey and regarded him skeptically, like he was trying to figure Mickey out. He offered Ian a sincere smile and continued eating, again figuring Ian would just want them to carry on with their morning.

Mickey was nearly finished with his by the time Ian took his first bite. He barely contained his curiosity as he sneakily glanced over to watch Ian's reaction. His heart pattered excitedly as he watched Ian immediately shovel more into his mouth.

“'oly s'it,” mumbled Ian around his mouth full of food, his eyes going wide as they shifted to Mickey. He chewed for a moment, his body inflating with a breath, and the second he swallowed his food down he spoke clearly, “This is so good—what the fuck, Mick?”

“I'm sorry, are you _mad_ that you like it?” laughed Mickey, more excitedly than he'd meant, as he watched Ian take in another ambitiously large bite.

Ian sat back, smiling as he chewed, and unexpectedly looked at Mickey with obvious adoration. It was almost a pleasureful pain to be caught under that gaze, and Mickey fought hard not to squirm. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and sat back, as well, working hard to meet Ian's bright eyes confidently.

Ian released a heavy sigh through his nose and shook his head, leaning back in to gather another bite to eat. Mickey cracked, letting out a laugh of confusion.

“Can't tell if you wanna fight me or fuck me, lookin' at me like that.”

“Believe me,” mumbled Ian around his food, “It's the latter.”

Mickey's brows twitched up in surprise. He'd always heard the way to someone's heart was through their stomach, but maybe it was actually the way to their genitals.

The more time passed with them giving each other heated glances had him believing it more and more. It made it that much more surprising when Ian abruptly took on a softer appearance, his eyes flickering with an emotion that Mickey couldn't have anticipated.

“This feels normal, too,” smiled Ian, while looking over the few bites that remained on his plate like they held the answers to life. “Everything feels normal with you, Mick.”

That was such an unexpectedly flattering comment that Mickey simply nodded his head and hid his heated face behind his coffee mug, taking a few large gulps. There was something heavy in those words. Maybe it was because Mickey never expected to be anybody's _normal_ ever in his life. He was usually the unusual or misunderstood.

His absolute joy when Ian looked at him so softly was even harder to understand. It made him feel like he wanted to be vulnerable with someone else, which was the last thing he'd ever wanted before. This led him to the conclusion that somewhere along the way he had found trust with Ian. That might've been the most significant thing in the world to him.

Ian's foot unexpectedly collided with Mickey's, his big toe ran along the side of it in such a natural way. Mickey bravely looked to the softness in Ian's expression again, feeling something more was about to dance out of Ian to lull Mickey.

“Merry Christmas.”

Mickey's heart stuttered and he felt a bit dumbfounded for a moment.

“Oh, right. Merry Christmas,” returned Mickey with a nervous twitch of his lips to follow.

Ian let out an unexpected laugh and spoke, “Did you forget?”

“Kinda,” shrugged Mickey, “Feels like a normal morning, right? That's what you said.”

He gave Mickey a sweet and lazy smile that made him look entirely innocently happy, before he concluded, “You're so cute.”

Mickey again fidgeted, scooping up his coffee cup, only to find it empty. He frowned and headed to the kitchen to refill it and catch his breath. How did Ian always make him so tense in a way that was actually pleasureful?

When Ian finished his food Mickey collected both plates and silverware, carrying them to the sink in the kitchen. He rinsed them and loaded them in his empty dishwasher, then moving on to put away all the food left out on the counter. So, he was quite surprised when he shut the door of his fridge and instantly felt Ian's body against his, wrapping him up just as he had at the stove earlier.

He smiled at the wall in front of him as Ian's hands moved up the front of his bare torso, while his lips traveled down the back of his neck to his shoulder blades.

“Guess you really did like breakfast, huh?”

“Mmm, and waking up in your bed,” murmured Ian against his skin, “Swear I woke up without a care in the world.”

Mickey mindlessly nodded agreement while his eyes fell shut, overcome with the feeling of Ian's soft lips gliding down his spine.

“Just feel so happy and relaxed,” added Ian.

“Yeah, can feel your _relaxation_ poking me in the ass,” teased Mickey.

Ian let forth a deep laugh that hit Mickey hard in his core. He followed that up by extending his tongue and dragging it all the way back up to the base of his neck. Mickey actually, audibly, gasped at the feeling and grabbed one of Ian's hands to grip onto.

“When do you have to leave again?” asked Mickey tightly, breathlessly.

“I've got a while,” answered Ian vaguely, while his free hand slithered down under the elastic band of Mickey's pants, seemingly enthused about the lack of any of fabric beneath, considering Ian immediately grasped onto him.

Mickey uncontrollably leaned back against him, licking his lips while he melted into Ian's touch.

“Then maybe we should take this shit to the bedroom?”

*

Time was inconsequential as their passion gave way to carefully built pleasure that had them both ultimately laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and catching their heavy breaths.

This seemed to go on for a long while with both of them just quietly laying beside one another, and he loved it. He loved the simplicity.

Mickey was still basking in relaxing contentment when he felt Ian moving, so he barely had the strength to turn his head to watch. Ian had his phone in hand and a furrowed brow for whatever he was gazing at.

“Everything okay?”

Ian quickly looked at him with a smile and nodded, “Just double checking how far my sister's is from here. One hour and fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus. Further than I thought.”

“Yeah, she just got married back in September and they got a place in some small ass town outside the city limits.”

“Good for her,” breathed Mickey as he tucked an arm under his head and returned his sights to the ceiling.

“The apartment her and her first kid were living in before was a total shitshow. Small and moldy.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Ian laughed and suddenly rolled over without his phone, placing a hand on the other side of Mickey and eyeing him strongly. Mickey tried not to press himself into the bed more, tried to confidently return the staring, but his voice wavered a bit as he asked, “What?”

“Will you please, please, come with me today?”

“Ian,” sighed Mickey as he pulled his gaze away, “Look, we're not being delusional here. You're cheating on your husband with me. Why are your siblings going to be cool with that? I thought only Lip and Liam knew.”

“Yeah, but Debs hates John. Like, really hates him.”

“And that's going to make her okay with _me_?” questioned Mickey incredulously.

“You'd be surprised,” smirked Ian.

Mickey simply narrowed his eyes and gave him a disbelieving look. Ian let out a breathy laugh and returned to his back in a smooth motion that, admittedly, left Mickey feeling a little disappointed. He was still holding onto a flicker of concern and defensive nerves that told him to stay strong, but his heart and body was begging him to give into Ian. He _wanted_ to meet his family. He _wanted_ to be with Ian for every second of the day he could. He _wanted_ to see what another side of Ian's life was like.

But, really, what he actually wanted was for this situation to be simple. He wanted Ian to be free, he wanted to be nervous about meeting the other Gallagher's because they were Ian's family, not because he was _the other man_.

Mickey cautiously glanced at Ian and found he held his phone again, but now seemed to be typing texts on it. He was smiling at it, which only made Mickey more curious. He began to curl his toes anxiously as he waited for Ian to return his attention to him.

“See?” chirped Ian, surprisingly turning his phone screen for Mickey to see.

There was a text exchange displayed that had Mickey nervously nibbling on his lip and glancing at Ian.

**Debs:** _Food should be done at 430 so maybe 3?_

**Ian:** _Yeah sounds good_

**Ian:** _Hey would it be ok if I brought a friend? He's cool_

**Debs:** _Sure Idc :) I'll have Kyle set another plate out_

“They're really not going to care, Mickey,” pressed Ian with a soft smile.

Before Mickey could speak Ian's phone buzzed and yanked the text thread down to reveal another set of messages that had his heart skipping along roughly.

**Debs:** _Is he just a friend or more? ;)_

**Ian:** _We've been hanging out lol I like him a lot so be nice_

**Debs:** _I'll be nice if he's nice_

Ian turned his phone away, but Mickey was already feeling so much about the words he'd read. He sighed those feelings out in a long breath and rubbed at his face. This apparently made Ian concerned, considering his next words were quieter and raced out of his mouth quickly.

“Sorry, Mick,” he spoke, “I'm kinda being pushy, huh? I'll stop, now, I swear. We can just stick to the original plan, alright? I gotta leave in an hour, but I'll come back here tonight and we can hang out again then.”

“Chill out, Gallagher,” huffed Mickey with amusement, “I just need to get in the shower if I'm going with you, so I'm trying to find the motivation.”

“Wait...” Ian again rolled over to be above Mickey, but this time was complete with his legs slipping between Mickey's. The second their warm skin reacquainted Mickey drew in a breath laced in content, while Ian settled and looked at him with big glossy eyes of hope. “You're coming with me?”

Mickey shrugged casually, answering, “Fuck it, why not?”

Ian gave him a dazzling smile that stayed burned into Mickey's mind as he was kissed. He pulled his arm out from his head to set his hand on the back of Ian's head instead, pressing himself up into Ian's lips a little deeper. He tasted of joy.

Ian's hands slipped under Mickey and his arms moved until they were fully locked around his back. He lifted and hugged Mickey closer to his body as he tilted his head to kiss him more fervently. Mickey arched his back a bit into the hold as his tongue dipped into Ian's mouth. As Ian began to suck on it Mickey groaned into him and wrapped both arms around his head and neck. Ian dipped his hips and ground himself into Mickey in a motion that had both of them coming to life.

Mickey detached their mouths, hissing through the shiver that moved through him, and sternly spoke, “I really gotta shower.”

“Okay,” smiled Ian, pulling his arms out from under him.

And yet, Ian used those free hands to reach down and lift Mickey's knees, spreading his legs further. He then rolled his hips again, pressing and dragging his hardening flesh against Mickey's.

Mickey smiled in return to Ian, his lids becoming heavy and his body uncontrollably moving up against Ian's, chasing the pleasure. But, when Ian moved again, dipping even lower to drag himself against his ass before going up and up to his semi-hard erection, Mickey let out a surprised laugh and shoved Ian off of him. Ian tumbled to the bed beside him and looked to Mickey with an equally amused and surprised expression.

“We're gonna run out of time and I'm not gonna meet your fuckin' family with come all over my stomach,” said Mickey as he rose from the bed, motioning to what remained of the mess they'd made earlier.

“We can be a little late,” shrugged Ian, as he went on to prop himself up on an elbow.

Mickey scowled at him, glancing down to what was only becoming harder and more obvious between his legs. He sighed, “I'm gonna shower, now.”

Truthfully, even if his body was clearly on board, Mickey needed to go compose himself. Because, his mind was racing with his remaining anxieties over meeting Ian's family. He kept thinking irrational thoughts about their disapproval. What if that changed Ian's mind about the whole situation? What if they hated him, and even if a future existed in which Ian left John, that would cause a permanent rift between them. Mickey knew how much Ian cared about his family.

“Can I watch?” drawled Ian with a wink to follow.

Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling, endlessly surprised by Ian's ability to distract his thoughts, even if it was just momentary.

“Don't give a fuck what'ya do,” murmured Mickey as he headed out of the room.

He heard Ian laughing as he clearly jumped up to follow. Mickey rolled his eyes, wondering how he could possibly make the redhead so obviously giddy all the time. He turned on the shower and pulled a fresh towel and rag from the cabinet, hanging them beside the shower while the water warmed up.

Mickey really tried not to, but couldn't help himself and looked at Ian curiously. And there he was in all his nude glory, leaning against the bathroom sink with bright lust-filled eyes and looking unnecessarily mouthwatering. His loins were on fire as he glanced down at what had been buried deep in Mickey just over a half hour ago.

“You are way too happy about this,” spoke Mickey as he turned away to step into the shower, attempting to stave his desire.

“'Course I am. I get to spend all day with you again.”

Mickey smiled to himself the second he pulled the shower curtain closed and moved under the spray of hot water, finding it didn't help to calm him at all. In fact, it brought on racing goose bumps that made him feel that much more alive and awake to all his current situations.

“If they're weird with me then I'm fuckin' leavin', alright?” stated Mickey as he reached for his shampoo.

“That's fair,” answered Ian from a surprisingly close distance.

Mickey quickly looked over his shoulder, finding Ian standing beside the shower, holding the curtain back enough so he could look inside. Mickey smirked, shaking his head at the always relentless tunnel vision of Ian's.

When he rinsed the lathered shampoo from his hair he opened his eyes to find another surprise. Ian was setting three travel sized bottles on the end of the tub. He then stepped inside the tub, crowding up the already small space. They smiled at one another as they were suddenly so close, face to face.

“Hey,” said Ian casually.

“Yeah, hi,” chuckled Mickey.

“Figured I need a shower, too, so,” shrugged Ian.

“Mhm,” hummed Mickey with suspicion as he moved out of the water to grab his body wash and rag.

As he then lathered his body with the soapy rag he shifted to look at Ian and was not disappointed by the sight. Every time he thought he'd seen Ian in his best light—that he couldn't look any better—Ian proved those thoughts wrong. Because, Christ, if there was anything that looked better than Ian standing under spraying hot water that ran down his skin as enthusiastically as Mickey felt, he didn't know it. It didn't exist. This was the greatest thing he'd ever seen.

He took in a satisfied breath, though realized his hand had stopped on his own skin and quickly continued to wash himself. He watched Ian lean out of the water and run a hand down his wet face, before his bright eyes reopened and locked onto Mickey.

He glanced down his form then smiled and reached a hand out.

“Gimme that,” requested Ian.

Mickey hesitantly, confusedly, handed the soapy rag over to Ian. And just as he was about to point out that he wasn't done yet, Ian motioned for him to turn around. Mickey smiled and obliged, turning his back to Ian.

This offering was so intimate in the way that Mickey had never experienced anything like it before. It was a small act, but so caring in a vulnerable position that it felt like a dream. Was this really his life now? He wasn't sure he had ever wanted things as domestic as washing each other in the shower, or having a quiet breakfast, but since experiencing them he knew there was nothing else he'd rather have, now.

Ian applied just the right amount of pressure as he moved the rag in tight circles and glided it across his shoulders. It almost felt like a massage.

Mickey closed his eyes and widened his stance a bit, to keep from tumbling forward into the porcelain wall. But, as Ian moved lower down his back he had to reach out a hand to the wall to stabilize himself. He let out an appreciative sound that had Ian suddenly leaning over his shoulder to plant a kiss on his cheek. Mickey smiled and opened his eyes to glance back at him as Ian retreated to continue washing down his back.

Ian glanced up at him with his own sweet smile, then spoke, “You should get an exfoliating rag.”

Mickey sent him a look, quirking a brow in question. “What?”

“I'm serious,” continued Ian, “It's good for your skin to get rid of all the old skin cells and shit. Feels pretty good, too.”

“Like a fuckin' loofah or somethin'?” questioned Mickey teasingly.

Ian let out a breathy laugh and responded, “No, it's still a _rag_. I'm prone to ingrown hairs on my legs. That shit helps, a lot.”

“And you think I need that because...?”

“You've got nice skin, it'll help keep it young.”

“I've got nice _skin_?” repeated Mickey exaggeratedly, “What're you, a serial killer?”

“Shut the fuck up,” laughed Ian.

Mickey pressed on, his own laughter fluttered through his words, “You gonna skin me and wear it, Gallagher? Should I _put the lotion on the skin_?”

“You're such an asshole,” returned Ian, “You know you've got beautiful skin.”

Mickey could retort no longer as Ian washed down to side of his hip, moving in wide enough circles that he reached the front of it, sending small sparks of interest right to his cock each time. Ian's possible ulterior motive suddenly dawned on him and he smiled knowingly to himself. What had felt like a sweet, soothing massage before had suddenly become some sort of heated foreplay.

Especially, when he felt Ian dropping down to his knees behind him.

Ian's free hand slipped gently to the inside of his thigh to hold onto while he continued moving the other in motions down the outside of his leg. Having his back washed was intimate, but having his legs washed was a whole new sensation. His body was buzzing; his focused honed to the hand holding onto the inside of his thigh, where Ian's thumb was gently stroking back and forth.

It made it that much more shocking when Ian unexpectedly, and playfully, bit one of his ass cheeks, causing Mickey to let out a strangled yelp. “Hey!” he laughed.

Ian chuckled deeply and instructed, “Turn around.”

Mickey followed his command and turned, nearly losing his breath at the sight of Ian still on his knees. The spray from the showerhead was continuously bouncing off the redhead's back. And because his hair was darker when wet, when he then glanced up at Mickey his eyes were even brighter than usual. Again, every time he thought he'd seen Ian in the most beautiful ways, the redhead proved him wrong—found new ways. Just the sight of him on his knees in front of him was enough to shock Mickey's system, without the other aspects thrown in.

While Ian washed all the way down to his feet, Mickey lost himself in gazing at Ian's reddening, wet skin. And at the way his actual hair length was revealed under the weight of water. He was taking in every raw detail, when Ian suddenly raised his eyes to him.

Ian stared hard at Mickey and he felt himself sway under the heavy desire that dropped onto him. He swallowed roughly and watched through his eyelashes as Ian kept his glowing eyes on him and moved the rag up the inside of his leg slowly. It felt good—so good—there was no way his body could avoid reacting and coming to life _fully_. Ian's gaze flickered down to watch for a second, before returning to Mickey's with an accompanying flirtatious smile.

Mickey nearly choked on his heart as he quickly spoke, “Don't get any bright ideas.”

“You talking to me or your hard-on?” teased Ian, as he moved on to wash his other leg.

Mickey snorted, “I mean, I've got a shitty hot water tank. We don't have enough hot water for any extra _activities_.”

“I didn't suggest anything, so are you still talking to your dick?” continued Ian as he stood up with a lopsided grin that had Mickey glaring.

“Don't even act like I don't know the fuck you were washin' me down like that for.”

Ian let out a guilty laugh and winked in confirmation, which had Mickey rolling his eyes through his own grin, reaching out to snatch the rag away from him. He moved into the water to rinse himself and the rag, listening closely to the sounds of Ian opening one of his bottles behind him.

When he turned to rinse his back he found Ian lathering his hair, his fingertips massaging into his scalp rhythmically. Ian smiled bashfully as Mickey watched him, then scrunched his nose up into a playful expression that just made Mickey want to kiss him. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him so bad.

But, as Ian moved towards the water to rinse, Mickey moved to the other end of the tub to ring out his rag. He hung it over the shower curtain rod before again turning to watch Ian. His arousal twitched at the sight of Ian with his eyes closed, head tilted back in the water, and endless suds racing down his body. Mickey drew in a needy breath and felt himself gravitating closer to Ian.

Ian suddenly smiled, as if he could sense Mickey getting closer and closer. He finished rinsing and moved his head out of the water, running a hand back through his soaked hair, and Mickey was done with thinking about things.

Before he realized what he was doing he had hold of Ian's face and pulled him down into a wide, hungry kiss. As if his senses really had been in tune with Mickey's, Ian instantly responded with his entire body, going as far to turn more and pin Mickey's body between him and the cold shower wall. Mickey arched away from the wall, but didn't let the shock of it dismay his intentions. Ian wrapped a warm arm around his back and hugged their bodies close together, while Mickey's hands wandered back through his hair and down the back of his neck.

Ian suddenly smiled, breaking their kiss, and Mickey paused to open his eyes and see. Ian bumped their foreheads together, with his eyes still closed, and smiled wider and wider.

“What?” inquired Mickey, bringing one of his hands down the side of Ian's neck and over his collarbone to his chest.

“Normal,” murmured Ian.

Mickey slowly grinned and instead wrapped his hand around to Ian's back before turning them through the spray of hot water, pressing Ian against the wall, instead. Ian opened his eyes as a soft laugh tumbled out of him. Their eyes locked with adoration and Mickey leaned back in, biting down on his bottom lip in attempt to fight off his smile. Ian's gaze fell to his mouth and his expression morphed from genuine happiness to something hungry and heavy. Mickey released his hold on his bottom lip and licked along it as he tilted his head and moved back in to capture Ian's mouth once more.

His hands wandered Ian's wet, solid, torso as they kissed vehemently. Their kisses were filled with needy expression—fast and deep; rough and purposeful.

As Mickey's right hand found it's way down to Ian's waist he moved it inwards to the familiar small trail of curly red hairs. He ran the back of his fingers down it, following it until he met Ian's growing erection. He barely bit back a groan as he danced his fingertips along the length of it. Ian shivered before suddenly sucking Mickey's bottom lip into his mouth.

And then Ian's fingers were preforming a dance of their own; back and forth down Mickey's tummy. Ian sucked even harder on Mickey's lip, until he let out a whimper of both pleasure and pain. His other hand acquainted with the back of Mickey's head as he released his lip only to press his lips to his and spread them with his own, leading them both back to tilting their heads and inhaling one another.

As Ian's hand reached between his legs, Mickey ground himself against it in a silent pleading motion. He wrapped his own hand around Ian and began to stroke him, daring him to do the same. Ian didn't disappoint. He began to stroke Mickey with the same matching speed as Mickey did him.

“Fuck,” exhaled Mickey against Ian's mouth.

Ian was panting against him as Mickey moved his lips away from his mouth, instead spreading them against his neck. He kissed Ian's steaming skin with an enthusiastic mash of lips and tongue a few times, making his way down to his shoulder. As Mickey reached the nape of his neck, Ian's fingers slipped into his hair and took hold. He started pumping Mickey's cock faster and Mickey followed suit with his own motions, delighted at the pleasureful sound that slipped from Ian's mouth in response.

Mickey dragged his tongue along Ian's collarbone, licking up every drop of water that remained. He was lost in the build of heat in his loins, in the taste of Ian's skin, he uncontrollably returned to the side of Ian's neck with another passionate kiss that kept going and going, carelessly.

But, then Ian abruptly used the grip on his hair to yank Mickey's head back away from him, gasping, “No hickeys.”

Mickey hardly heard him, still lost in the pleasure that only increased by Ian's sudden restraint. He released a moan of approval and began to rock his hips forward, thrusting against Ian's working hand. Ian seemed to understand as his fingers adjusted for a better hold of his hair and he pulled a little harder to the side, exposing Mickey's entire neck to him.

Mickey's body lit up from head to toe as Ian's tongue slipped out onto his neck and moved upwards. A deep, raspy groan tore through him as Ian's opened mouth ran along his jawline. Ian then peppered Mickey's neck with sloppy, biting, kisses that echoed through him.

His senses were blown. He could hardly keep up—was hardly aware of how hard he was desperately thrusting himself into Ian's hand now, or of the speed with which Ian thrust into his own. The build was evident. They were both climbing beside one another.

He was feeling everything at once, at the mercy of it all. So, when Ian pressed his face against his jaw and whimpered, the bright fluttering that lit up inside of Mickey was that much more intense.

“Fuck, Ian,” gasped Mickey unsteadily.

Ian's fingers unraveled from his hair and he pulled away a bit, allowing Mickey's head to move back into place. His stomach did a back flip as he opened his heavy eyelids to find Ian watching him with a consuming gaze, his expression overwhelmed. Mickey's release screamed forward, his hand trembled roughly around Ian's cock, and he bit his overly stimulated lip again.

He pressed the palm of his hand to Ian's chest and pushed him tightly against the wall to resist curling his fingers to scratch him. He was falling through a void of pleasure and wanted to latch onto Ian with all his might.

Ian's mouth fell open as he watched him, moaning boisterously, and Mickey had to shut his eyes. He dropped his head onto his own hand on Ian's chest as he came harder than he would've anticipated. He grunted and groaned and suddenly he felt Ian coming in his hand—seemingly extending the life of his own pleasure. Ian's arm wrapped around Mickey tightly as he groaned out his name.

Mickey swallowed roughly and tilted his head back enough that he could press an appreciative kiss to Ian's chest as they milked out the last of their pleasure together.

A quiet moment unfolded in the steam of the shower and then both of Ian's hands were pulling Mickey's head up until he could kiss him. They kissed slowly, lazily, as they came down from their highs and Mickey sighed through his nose as he found steadiness once again.

As their lips parted Ian let out a laugh and spoke, “Well, that fuckin' escalated.”

Mickey pulled away with his own laugh and grinned at Ian. He glanced down to the mess between them and turned with a groan into the water to rinse off.

“Water's getting cold,” announced Mickey as he gave Ian an amused smirk, “You better wash up fast.”

“Fuck off,” laughed Ian, motioning for him to move out of the way.

Mickey reached down to turn the cold water down more, to extend the life of the hot water, before moving to the other end of the tub.

“Hand me that black bottle?” requested Ian over his shoulder.

Mickey reached for the small black bottle of body wash and couldn't resist cracking it open to take a whiff. Butterflies danced inside at the familiar scent. He handed it over to Ian and reached for his towel hanging outside of the shower.

He left Ian to finish up and dried himself outside of the shower. Ian clearly hadn't gathered his own towel, so Mickey retrieved one for him and hung it up where his had been. He then hung up his used towel, and moved to his bedroom to apply a fresh pair of boxers before he even heard Ian shut the shower off.

He returned to the bathroom to find Ian drying himself off, with the shower curtain drawn, and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. Ian joined him after wrapping his towel around his waist, smiling as he settled at his side. Mickey had to spit out a mouthful of minty foam before returning one of his own.

Ian eyed him for another moment then reached into his toiletry bag. He removed the mesh bag filled with pill bottles and pulled out a toothbrush sporting a plastic cover. Mickey's eyes were on the pill bottles, though. This would be as natural of a time as any, he considered, as he leaned down to spit once more. He rinsed his mouth and stood again, glancing at where Ian was applying toothpaste to his own toothbrush.

“So, what's the deal with that shit?” asked Mickey while he rinsed his toothbrush under the running water.

Ian looked to him curiously, so Mickey motioned to the mesh bag. Ian visibly tensed. His lips curled into a thin tight line as he went on to stare at Mickey with a hesitant gaze. Mickey simply raised his brows curiously at the redhead and quietly waited. As he looked into his eyes, though, he found the distinct feeling that he would be waiting for a very long time.

“Can we talk about it later?” rasped Ian quietly, as if the words were forced out through blades in his throat.

Mickey frowned and truthfully only became more curious about it. But, to a certain level he could empathize. This was clearly a sensitive topic for Ian, and Mickey himself had his own baggage that he had avoided spilling to the redhead a few times.

“It's just...there's kind of a lot to say about it,” added Ian, with a sad attempt at a casual shrug.

“'s cool,” nodded Mickey, “I get it.”

A quiet moment passed in which he didn't know what else to say and Ian seemed to grow even sadder in his demeanor.

“Sorry,” murmured Ian.

Mickey clicked his tongue and turned more as he reassured Ian, “It's fine. You got your shit, like everyone else. Tell me when you're ready. I'm not gonna hold it over your head or whatever. I just figured it wasn't _that_ big of a deal.”

Ian frowned and looked even further away as he seemed to use brushing his teeth to avoid saying anything else. Mickey felt a flicker of guilt as he put his toothbrush back in the holster on the wall above the sink. He moved to be positioned more behind Ian and looked to the mirror where their eyes met. Mickey offered him a smile and said, “I'm gonna go get dressed.”

Ian nodded and as Mickey leaned in and kissed his shoulder, he smiled around his toothbrush genuinely. Mickey's smile lifted higher and he hooked his finger under Ian's towel before tugging it loose. It fell to the floor.

“Whoops,” smirked Mickey as Ian turned to give him a playful glare. Mickey shrugged innocently and began to back out of the bathroom, letting his eyes wander Ian's nude form one more time.

 

*

They were definitely leaving later than what was implied earlier in bed, considering the hour mark had come and gone when they both finished getting ready. Mickey was in the dining room smoking a cigarette, checking his e-mail, when Ian walked in, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, hair freshly dried and styled, and smelling like heaven. There was a wrapped present tucked under his arm that immediately caught Mickey's eye and made him give Ian an exhaustive look.

“C'mon, Mick. It's not a big deal,” defended Ian immediately, “I promise, it's not extravagant.”

Mickey sighed heavily as Ian sat down at the table with him and set the gift down. It seemed pretty big to Mickey, which confused the hell out of him. He looked over the striped blue paper and the big black bow, before returning his gaze to Ian's hopeful eyes.

“Is it a skincare package, _Buffalo Bill_?” joked Mickey dryly.

Ian barked out a laugh and quickly gave him the finger in response. Mickey laughed along with him and returned his eyes to the wrapped package once more. He made a stubborn face at it and pulled a hit from his cigarette, before leaving it in the ashtray.

“Alright, fine,” exhaled Mickey, his smoke going along with the words.

Ian's expression lit up, but then he was immediately back to down playing whatever it was with, “Like I said, it's nothing fancy.”

“Good,” grunted Mickey.

“I was going to get you this really nice watch I found, but I had a feeling you wouldn't accept anything expensive.”

“Yeah, no shit,” said Mickey as he finally reached out to pull the gift towards him.

This was definitely outside of his comfort zone.

“I figured this was practical, so there's no way you can reject it,” added Ian, which only made Mickey more curious.

Curious enough to open it impatiently, his brow furrowed tensely. He pulled the paper away, setting it at the center of the table, and found an unmarked box. He tore that open and it was stuffed with individually wrapped items inside, of different sizes.

Mickey gave Ian a look and spoke, “You're one of those people, huh?”

Ian simple laughed and motioned for him to hurry up and open them. Mickey only grumbled a little as he went on to open the first of three. He couldn't believe how relieved and genuinely grateful he was by the gifts he found. There was a mouse pad with a wrist support built in, a long cushioned item that was for keyboard wrist support, and then a cushion he could attach to his office chair for lumbar support.

“I just figured that, you know, you work long hours and it's gotta be hard on your wrists and back, so,” offered Ian as Mickey carefully looked over the details of the gifts.

Slowly Mickey began to shake his head, before murmuring, “Damnit, Gallagher.”

“What?”

“These are awesome,” explained Mickey with a defeated hand gesture. “Like, I actually can't fuckin' wait to try these out on Monday.”

“Yeah?” beamed Ian.

Mickey laughed and nodded, “I'm serious. I've looked into shit like this before, but never got it.”

“So you're not going to force me to take it back?” teased Ian.

Mickey looked him over with an ever growing smile and shook his head, “You win.”

Ian laughed happily and leaned forward, setting a hand on Mickey's thigh. Mickey met him half way for the kiss they both obviously wanted.

“Thanks,” murmured Mickey against his mouth, before cutting off the rest of the conversation with a lasting kiss.

Never, ever, before had Mickey received a considerate gift like that. One that he would actually use. He loved it. Loved that Ian hadn't tried to impress him with shiny crap, but instead got him things that would actually make his days a little less painful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being patient with me :) I promise I'm not going anywhere and that I have the next several chapters outlined and ready to be written. I know this update was kind of short, but hopefully it was enough to tide you over until the next.


	16. Don't You Know Your Secret's Safe With Me

Mickey learned quickly that he loved long car rides with Ian. Their entire trip to Debbie's was filled with light conversation, laughter, singing along to classic hits from the 80's, and endless flirtatious looks and touches. He wondered about a future where they could go on road trips across the country together—maybe with no destination in mind, just seeing where the wind took them.

He swore he didn't even recognize himself anymore when he was with Ian. He wanted things he had never wanted before, hoped for them, even. It was like he was getting to know a version of himself that was birthed from this connection between them. And truthfully, he didn't hate it.

Debbie's neighborhood was an old one, but so quiet. So safe. It was like a bizarro version of their old neighborhood. What it could've been—or, even what it had been long before the chaos took it over. There was a decent sized driveway that led to a small garage, but Ian parked on the street against the curb in front of the house.

Mickey exited the car and looked up at the house that seemed to be exactly what he expected for a family. It was a one-story brick house with a small porch and white trim around the windows. A row of bushes decorated in christmas lights framed the stairs that led up to it.

“Wanna give me a hand?” requested Ian, breaking Mickey's observation.

He certainly needed help, considering all of the presents remaining in the trunk needed to go in. Ian opened two large gift bags and piled as many smaller ones into them as possible. Mickey slung one over a wrist and let Ian pile three gifts into his open arms.

As Ian scooped up the rest and managed to somehow shut his trunk and lock the car Mickey sent him an impressed expression. Ian chuckled and winked at him, before leading the way to the house.

As he followed Ian up the stone steps, with his eyes locked on the back of his head, he considered that he might be entirely helpless to the invisible forces between them; that he would likely follow Ian to the ends of the earth. And that didn't even bother him one bit.

Ian used his hip to ring the doorbell, then stepped back beside Mickey, who was admittedly growing nervous on the porch.

The door opened pretty quickly and Mickey held his breath, expecting to see Ian's sister. Instead it was a tall guy with a baby-face and dirty blonde hair. His expression lit up as he greeted, “Ian! So good to see you!”

“It's good to see you, too, Kyle,” returned Ian as he stepped inside around him, with Mickey close behind.

Kyle shut the door and immediately turned his gaze to Mickey, who was now nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

“Oh, this is Mickey. Mickey, this is Debs' husband Kyle.”

“It's nice to meet you,” smiled Kyle.

For a second it looked like he was about to reach his hand out to be shaken, but he seemed to think twice on that when he looked to the pile of gifts in Mickey's arms.

“Yeah, you, too,” replied Mickey with a nod of his head.

“Well, you guys can put that stuff down wherever,” suggested Kyle, waving his hand out to the living room. “I'll go get Debbie.”

Mickey turned to look around the unexpectedly large living room while Kyle wandered off. The room was Christmas _on speed_. There were decorations covering every single inch of it. And the tree was large and nearly blinding with it's many lights and large ornaments. He didn't even notice the toddler sitting in front of the tv at first—until Ian happily called out, “Franny!”

Ian raced around the couch as the small girl turned to beam at him. He watched Ian dump his haul of presents next to the tree before he turned just in time to scoop up the child reaching for him. He wrapped her up into a hug, swinging her back and forth a bit, and Mickey smiled.

“What'cha watching?” asked Ian, turning his gaze to the television for a moment, before grinning at the child in his arms, “ _Frosty the Snowman_?”

“Yeah!” cheered Franny.

“I _love_ Frosty!”

“Me too!”

Ian chuckled and lowered her back to the floor, though his eyes darted over to Mickey. His smile dimmed to a warm one and he tugged his head back. Mickey realized he still hadn't moved into the living room at all. His face warmed a bit as he walked over to Ian's side, pausing to carefully set all the gifts next to the ones Ian had already set next to the tree.

“This is my friend Mickey.”

Mickey turned to find both redheads looking at him. He smiled a bit as he looked to Franny, lifting a hand to wave. She swayed a bit before raising a hand to wave in return. Thankfully, kids had zero shame in social situations, because she then turned and, without another word spoken, ran back to her spot in front of the tv.

Ian sent him an amused look before leading the way back to the small foyer to hang up their coats on the long row of hooks beside the door. They'd barely stepped back into the living room before another redhead appeared, grinning and calling out Ian's name.

“Hey, Debs!” exclaimed Ian, opening his arms and rushing towards her with equal speed.

Mickey's nervousness only increased as he considered this was only the first of many Gallagher siblings he'd be in the presence of for the rest of the night. He slowly moved towards them as he watched the two hug fiercely, as if they hadn't seen each other in years.

“Smells good in here,” said Ian when they finally broke apart.

“Thanks,” smiled Debbie, “I've been cooking since ten this morning.”

“Jesus,” murmured Ian, before glancing at Mickey. “Oh! This is Mickey.”

There was a tinge of relief when Debbie turned her attention to him and didn't look repulsed. She genuinely smiled and greeted him with, “Hey, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” returned Mickey, with what he knew was a nervous smile.

“You guys thirsty? I got beer in the fridge.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Ian with a nod.

Debbie turned to head back into the hallway she had appeared from and Mickey sucked in a calming breath. Ian unexpectedly reached a hand out to his lower back and gave him a soothing rub accompanied by a reassuring smile. Mickey tried not to feel defensive over his obvious nervousness and instead snorted at the gesture before heading down the hall. He heard Ian's gentle chuckles behind him and was glad he was at least amused by Mickey's efforts to seem less nervous than he was.

They passed bedrooms and a bathroom on the way before reaching the bright kitchen at the end of the hall. It really did smell incredible, and only reaffirmed how empty Mickey's stomach was. Debbie was checking something in a slow cooker and Kyle was seated at the large rectangular table on the left side of the room, playing on his phone.

Ian headed to the fridge with familiarity and grabbed two bottleneck beers. Mickey was again gravitated to his side. He watched Ian pull a magnetic bottle opener from the fridge door and pop off the caps before handing off one to Mickey.

“So, where's the newest addition?” inquired Ian, while Mickey focused on inhaling a good quarter of his beer.

“Sleeping,” returned Debbie as she put the lid back on the slow cooker, “He had a big day, opening presents.”

Kyle laughed and added, “He actually ripped some of the paper off, it was cute.”

“Franny really went wild,” said Debbie, “There was wrapping paper everywhere.”

Ian chuckled and headed towards the table, so Mickey quickly followed. They sat next to one another and Kyle set down his phone with a smile.

“How's the new job?” asked Ian, looking over his shoulder towards Debbie.

Mickey turned and found she was nowhere to be seen, but then she reappeared from behind the counter, holding a large bag of potatoes. She dumped it into the sink and began to wash them as she answered Ian.

“Great! I get along with everybody and the hours are perfect. I'm working seconds now, but that means that Kyle's home with the kids before I even head in.”

“Tell them about what Adam told you,” chimed Kyle excitedly.

“Oh!” Debbie spun with an excited look and went on, “There's this guy I work with that's going to a union, and he said he'd totally try to get me in as soon as he can.”

“That's awesome, Debs,” returned Ian, “You'll be set for life, right?”

“A welders union? Hell yeah. That's guaranteed good pay, great benefits, and you're basically in it until retirement.”

“Wow, sounds perfect.”

“Any of them would be lucky to have her,” boasted Kyle with proud smile.

Mickey wasn't really paying attention to any of their conversation. He was in the middle of a battle within himself. There was an instinct to offer help as watched Debbie scrub the potatoes clean, but the unfamiliarity of it all had him choking at the words every time they bubbled up. Until there was a pause in the conversation. That's when they came blurting out.

“Need any help over there?” inquired Mickey, “I could peel the potatoes or something.”

The room practically became silent for a moment, and he felt all eyes on him. Instantly he regretted offering, feeling himself tense all over again.

“Actually, yeah, that'd be great,” smiled Debbie as she turned to look at him, “Thanks, Mickey.”

He nodded as he stood, trying not to let it show just how pleased he was by the outcome, or how relieved. He rolled up his sleeves as he made his way to the sink, noting the opened trash can that was sitting beside it. Debbie appeared with a large pot that she sat on the counter beside the sink. She threw open a drawer near them and set a pairing knife on the counter next to the pot. He curiously glanced at her and watched her give another grateful smile before heading towards the stove.

Mickey took one more swig of his beer before setting it next to the pot then looked down to the ten pounds of freshly washed potatoes waiting for him in the sink.

Maybe it was because he had played with knives so often growing up, but it was almost a special skill he had at this point; peeling potatoes with lightning speed.

“I like to leave a little bit of skins in it,” chimed Debbie from the stove, “But, not a lot.”

“Got'cha,” nodded Mickey, as he began peeling his first over the trashcan.

He rolled the potato in his hand and pressed the knife just below the skin, garnering a long and slightly curly skin that fell into the trash. The knife was sharp, this would be no problem. He left small strips of skin here and there, and honestly felt himself relax a bit. Having a task to focus on was better than sitting and anxiously waiting for interactions that would undoubtedly be judged.

Mickey was four potatoes in when he felt the burning in the back of his head that made him glance over his shoulder. Ian was turned in his chair, watching him like a hawk, and looking entirely satisfied by what he found. It made Mickey's heart flutter happily, although, he glared at the man in challenge. Ian smiled a little wider at him and Mickey broke, giving him a warm smile in return before returning to his potato job.

“So, how'd you two meet?” asked Kyle unexpectedly.

Mickey glanced at him worriedly, but found zero judgment. In fact, Kyle looked just as welcoming and pleased as he had when he'd first opened the front door.

“We both work downtown,” answered Ian, vaguely, “Met at a coffee cart.”

“That's cool,” returned Kyle, “What do you do, Mickey?”

“Computer programmer. I spend all day writing codes to create software.”

“Oh, wow. That was a smart field to get into. Steady work and good pay, right?”

“The future is in tech,” replied Mickey with a smirk as he dropped a naked potato into the large pot, “That's what they told me in all of my classes.”

“You work at Woods Tech?”

Mickey's heart jumped worriedly as he turned enough to look at Debbie, who was now wearing a pensive expression.

Hesitantly, uncomfortably, he answered, “Yeah. For a few months, now.”

Her gaze turned to Ian and Mickey decided to again focus all of his attention on the potatoes in front of him. Still, he waited for Debbie to berate them. His back ached with tension.

Mickey internally jumped when a sudden, unfamiliar, sound echoed out through the room. A baby crying over a monitor.

“I'll get that,” announced Kyle as he stood to exit the room.

Mickey raised his gaze enough to watch him leave and Debbie shut off the monitor. Then, even more unexpectedly, she sent him another small smile as she returned to the stove.

“Can I help with anything?” offered Ian, as he stood to walk around the counter, glancing at Mickey in the process.

“Nah, it's alright,” dismissed Debbie, “Everything pretty much has to simmer now. Carl texted a bit ago and said they were almost here, though.”

“Did he catch a ride with Lip and Liam?”

“Yeah. Kev and V said they'd be stopping by, too, by the way.”

“Cool, sounds like a full house.”

“Yeah, Kyle's stupid cousins are coming, too,” murmured Debbie bitterly, which made Ian laugh.

Mickey again zoned out on the potatoes as the other two went on to chat about Kyle's family. He was nearing the end, only a few potatoes left in the sink, when the sound of the doorbell rang out through the house. Debbie sighed loudly and left the room.

Barely a moment passed before Ian leaned back against the counter next to the sink and crossed his arms. Mickey raised his brows a bit as he glanced at him, admittedly amused at just how happy Ian looked in the situation.

“Can I help you?”

“Nah, I just liked watching. Wanted to get a closer look.”

Mickey rolled his eyes playfully, reaching for one of the last potatoes.

“You wanna step out for a cigarette when you're done?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Mickey.

“Domestic housewife,” murmured Ian teasingly.

Mickey grinned and looked to him, attempting to narrow his eyes, and returned, “Keep pushin' and see where the fuck you end up, Gallagher.”

“I kind of like the sound of that threat,” returned Ian with a smirk.

Mickey scanned Ian's body with several ideas coming to mind and returned to the potatoes with even more vigor. They were departing from the kitchen just as Debbie returned with an annoyed look and three men following her in. Ian reached out to give her a soothing pat on the arm as they passed them, but didn't change his goal to get outside.

Before long they were standing on the front porch in their coats, passing a lighter back and forth to light their cigarettes.

Mickey scanned the neighborhood and again considered just _how_ different it was to the one he'd grown up in. It was quiet, peaceful. The houses were decorated with holiday spirit and most had multiple cars parked in the paved driveways.

“Seems like you're fitting in just fine,” noted Ian, luring Mickey's attention to him.

Ian tilted his head back as he blew out a long plume of smoke, eyeing Mickey the whole time. It was so attractive that Mickey suddenly felt the magnetic pull between them beckoning him aggressively.

“We'll see how the rest of the night goes,” shrugged Mickey, though he did let himself drift a little closer and Ian certainly noticed. He smiled as he glanced down Mickey's body, then moved closer, as well. “Your sister seems pretty cool.”

“Well, you definitely already scored points with her in there.”

Mickey dismissed the praise and hid behind a hit of his cigarette. He looked out to the road once more as a car drove by, then let a curious thought leave his mouth.

“Would you ever wanna live in a place like this?”

He watched Ian look around the neighborhood for a moment.

“Hm, I dunno. There's perks to living in the downtown, but it would be nice to have a house. Maybe like the neighborhood Damon's in?”

Mickey snorted, “He'd lose his damn mind.”

Ian's gaze locked onto his and Mickey realized the implication of his joke. His heart plummeted to his stomach.

“Are you talking about _together_?” asked Ian with a growing smile.

Mickey looked down, trying to figure how to recover from the subconscious slip.

“We'll see,” mumbled Mickey painfully. “Little early for us to be discussing big purchases together.”

“You're the one who said it,” laughed Ian.

“Fuck off, didn't even mean it like that.”

“Mhm, sure,” returned Ian sarcastically, “I think you want a white picket fence with me.”

Mickey's face was burning hot. He sucked in a sharp hit from his cigarette before biting out, “Do I fuckin' look like a white picket fence kinda guy?”

Ian's smile set in even deeper as he went on to drag his gaze carefully up Mickey's body. When his eyes met Mickey's the right corner of his mouth tugged up a little higher.

“I could see it. I bet you'd look really good working up a sweat mowing our lawn.”

Mickey couldn't fight away a pleased expression and the amused breath that joined it.

“The fuck? Why am _I_ the one mowing? What're you gonna be doin'?”

“Watching,” winked Ian.

They both fell into laughter, with Mickey shaking his head at him, until Ian held up a hand in signal to wait.

“We'd switch off,” bargained Ian, “You one day, me the other.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Mickey, “I know your ulterior motives, now. Bet you'd find every excuse under the fuckin' sun, man.”

Ian laughed again, his eyes twinkling at him—before something else suddenly stole his attention. Mickey followed his gaze and looked over his shoulder to see a car parking in the driveway. Liam hopped out of the backseat before the car even shut off and Mickey felt his amusement drop away with a silent thud. The rest of the Gallagher's had arrived.

Liam jogged up to the porch, going straight for Ian, who greeted him with a quick hug.

“They need help with anything?” inquired Ian.

Liam shrugged and turned to head to the front door, but gave Mickey a polite smile first.

“How's it goin', buddy,” greeted Mickey with a nod.

“Fine,” answered Liam quietly, in his usual feather-soft voice, as he made his way to the front door.

Really, it endlessly amused Mickey how gentle and quiet Liam seemed to be, given the rest of his siblings were anything but.

Two car doors shutting had Mickey preparing himself, even widening his stance a bit as he turned towards the stairs. Lip seemed to have his eye on Mickey immediately, while the other brother, Carl, made a beeline for Ian with a massive grin on his face, swinging the large gift bags in his hands.

“Hey!” greeted Ian with an enthusiastic laugh, opening his arms wide.

They hugged over the stairs, but Ian squeezed his younger brother tightly and lifted him up onto the porch with Carl grinning at the overly enthused expression of Ian's. Mickey's gaze pivoted to Lip, again, and found the man still watching him, but now he wore a smug smile around the cigarette between his lips, which filled Mickey with concern and annoyance.

“The hell is Mickey Milkovich doing here?” questioned Carl with a laugh of disbelief unexpectedly, causing Mickey's heartbeat to fumble.

“That's a good question,” chimed Lip through his cigarette.

Mickey tensed, and tensed, and tensed. He glanced at Ian, who just looked between them for a moment.

“Oh, you know him?” returned Ian with a curious lilt.

“Everyone knows the Milkoviches. He beat the shit out of my friend Bill back in the day,” explained Carl with a nod of his head and a strange smile for Mickey, “Owed him for some coke.”

Mickey should've known that spending time with people from his old neighborhood would result in stories of who he used to be. But, still, his stomach churned. He couldn't even look at Ian, now. And the only reason why he could look at Carl was because of his confusion towards what the kid was feeling about him. He almost looked amused saying these things. Especially when he added, “He's still missing a tooth.”

Mickey nervously scratched at the back of his neck and found his tone taking a defensive shape as he said, “Uh, yeah, sorry bout that. I didn't go easy on assholes that didn't pay.”

Carl let out a laugh and returned, “It's cool, he's a total waste of space.”

Mickey nodded, but hardly felt any relief. He pulled a hit from his cigarette, at last glancing at Ian, who looked amused himself.

“I thought you died, though,” spoke Carl, “That's what everyone said.”

“I heard the same thing,” said Lip.

Mickey swallowed roughly and gave them a dismissive shrug, unsure of his ability to summon enough courage for an actual answer.

“Did you fake your own death or some shit?”

“What's with the third degree?” chuckled Ian, reaching out to playfully hit Carl's arm.

“It's just weird,” defended Carl.

“My Dad told everyone I died when I left the neighborhood,” explained Mickey vaguely, forcing the words out through another coat of defense. “Brothers went along with it. I still go to the Alibi sometimes, though, so most people know it's bullshit.”

A quiet moment passed as the Gallagher's took in his words. He could see the question marks above their heads, could practically hear the questions that he wasn't going to answer if given life.

But, then Lip pulled in a loud breath, and flicked his cigarette out into the yard as he spoke, “Yeah, well, Terry always was a piece of shit. Probably a blessing that he wants nothing to do with you, huh?”

Mickey snorted, lifting his brows in a quick movement, and agreed, “Yeah, I don't miss that fucker.”

Lip snickered at that as he walked up the steps to the porch to join the rest of them at last.

“So, you still dealing?” inquired Carl unexpectedly.

“Fuck no,” answered Lip, even more surprisingly. He wrapped his arm around Carl's shoulders and smiled at Mickey as he added, “He's a respectable guy, now. Big city job.”

“No shit?” spoke Carl with wide eyes.

But, before Mickey was forced to divulge anymore details of his life, Lip began to pull Carl towards the door. “You can ask him for his resume later, let's go greet Debs.”

And here was the thing that bugged Mickey about Lip. He couldn't begin to understand him. Half of his actions and words seemed sarcastic, but also considerate and genuine. It was confusing and always left Mickey feeling ready for anything. The asshole always was smug, but he also seemed to have a kind side that he hid underneath it. He didn't like not being able to read somebody.

The smirk Lip sent him over his shoulder before disappearing inside with Carl only reaffirmed that. Mickey shook his head a bit as he took in the last hit of his cigarette, before putting it out on the bottom of his shoe. He tucked the filter into his pocket and summoned courage to look at Ian, who was again wearing a steady smile.

“What?”

Ian shrugged and moved in closer—very close. Mickey glanced nervously at the closed front door, then the window beside them. Ian snaked an arm around his back and tugged him a little closer.

“Someday you're gonna have to tell me that story, ya know,” breathed Ian, his eyes wandering Mickey's face in obvious search of answers.

Mickey frowned and looked away. “I guess,” he murmured.

Ian's hand unexpectedly caressed Mickey's face, luring his gaze back to him. Ian offered him a gentle smile that was almost painful to look at. It was that level of care Mickey had never been given before, and thus never knew how to handle. He nervously twitched his lips to the side, waiting for the conclusion or for the intense feeling in his chest to settle.

“But, for now,” began Ian quietly, “just know that I'm glad those were just rumors. I'm glad you're here with me now.”

Mickey's heart skipped, giving him a hard thud on the inside that actually hurt. He knew the emotional effects of those words were showing on his face, knew that Ian could see how deeply he'd touched, but he was unable to control himself in this moment.

Ian's expression turned sympathetic and, if at all possible, even more gentle. And then he was leaning in like he was going to kiss him. Panic shot through Mickey and he quickly threw his hand up between them, pressing his palm over Ian's lips.

A still moment passed as they stared at each other, with Ian looking surprised and confused. Mickey pulled himself away, then stepped out of Ian's hold entirely.

“Not doing that shit where your family could catch us,” stated Mickey.

Ian snorted, immediately looking amused by Mickey's concern. Mickey raised his brows in challenge, fully prepared to argue his point.

“You're so cute,” stated Ian.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I told you, not here to stir any drama.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn't happen, but I get it,” sighed Ian, “Let's go back inside.”

 

*

In the next two hours Mickey concluded that the Gallaghers were...loud. They were all chatterboxes. It was pure chaos he witnessed as he stood behind the couch and watched all of them open gifts in the living room simultaneously. Then even while they all crowded around the dining table that was extended to fit everybody, they continued chatting nonstop with each other—food in their mouths or not.

His family had ever been much of talkers, to witness a family have so much to say to one another was a bit surprising. And really, the buzz of noise lasting this long practically made him dizzy. He chimed in only a few times at the table, mostly focusing on inhaling the delicious food, but that didn't mean they were excluding him, either. In fact, he noticed that most everyone at the table looked to him while sharing stories—especially stories involving Ian.

And this left him with a very unexpected feeling: acceptance. From Ian's family on the _first day_ of really interacting with them. No one seemed bothered by his presence. No one batted an eye when Ian casually stole mashed potatoes from his plate and winked at him playfully. No one even seemed to care when they were both sitting back, leaning towards each other until their arms pressed together in the most natural way. This might've been the reason why he was smiling more frequently and casually than he'd ever expected to by the end of the meal.

At one point, while weighing the reward of standing outside in the freezing cold to smoke a cigarette, half of the table stood up. Lip, Kyle, and Kyle's cousins. They'd made it to the backdoor before Debbie called out, “Where are you guys going?”

“Uhh, I asked Lip to take a look at my car,” said Kyle with a half-wince half-smile.

Lip let out a laugh and pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one between his lips and offered, “We won't be long, Debs.”

“Whatever,” returned Debbie with a roll of her eyes.

They all filtered out of the house and Mickey looked to Ian with a suggestive expression. He read it perfectly, considering he smiled and spoke, “Yeah, we might step out for a cigarette, too.”

“They're going out there to smoke pot, ya know,” explained Debbie in an unenthused tone as she stood to start gathering the dirty dishes.

Mickey raised his brows and leaned even closer to Ian to murmur, “Shit, maybe we really should join them.”

Ian laughed, but stood for an entirely different reasons as he spoke, “Let me help clean up, Debs.”

Mickey leaned forward to help, grabbing a plate to scrape the remnants onto another, but then Ian appeared on his opposite side and pointed a warning finger at him.

“You sit still and relax.”

Mickey smiled and passed the dirty plates off to Ian as he sat back.

“And finish my beer for me?” added Ian as he headed towards the sink.

“Don't even gotta ask,” joked Mickey as he reached for Ian's beer bottle.

He couldn't help but notice Carl, however, as he took a drink from the bottle. Carl was eyeing him with another suspicious smile. Thankfully, Debbie reappeared and distracted them both as she lifted her baby from his highchair and suggested her daughter go back to the living room.

“I'm going to get him cleaned up,” announced Debbie as she set her food-covered son on her hip and looked off towards Ian, “Don't worry about the leftovers, I'll get those.”

“Sounds good,” sang Ian from where he stood by the sink.

Mickey curiously glanced at Carl and found him studying Mickey again, just as he thought. Then he then leaned down to Liam beside him and whispered something into the youngest Gallagher's ear. Liam glanced up from the new handheld game he'd just unwrapped earlier, then shrugged and stood. Mickey's brow furrowed as he watched Liam go, heading towards the living room. His eyes snapped back to Carl, who leaned forward onto his elbows on the table, as if bracing himself.

“The fuck you gotta say, kid?” demanded Mickey, a little uncontrollably.

The loud sounds of Ian rinsing dishes immediately halted, but Mickey didn't pull his eyes from Carl. He was almost impressed by him, as Carl didn't look scared or nervous. He looked unfazed.

“How long you two been dating?” asked Carl with a nod towards Ian.

A long moment unfolded of Mickey and Carl staring at one another. Mickey nibbled his bottom lip, wondering exactly how to handle the situation. He and Ian hadn't exactly discussed what to say about their relationship to his family. In the end he looked over his shoulder to Ian, who was surprisingly smiling as he continued working on the dishes, as if Carl hadn't just dropped a bomb on them. Mickey scowled a bit and returned his gaze to Carl.

“Why do you think we're dating?”

“Kinda obvious, dude,” laughed Carl. “The way you guys are with each other.”

Mickey fidgeted, readjusting in his seat and reaching for the beer again. He shrugged a bit, still unsure how to answer the question. In fact, he had questions of his own.

“You don't care?” asked Mickey quietly, probably even too quiet for Ian to hear.

Carl shook his head. As if it really wasn't a big deal at all. Mickey couldn't comprehend why they would just all accept him so easily, knowing Ian was married. Was this actually common in the Gallagher family, maybe? A paranoid thought crossed his mind, which had him looking back at Ian again. Was Ian prone to cheating, maybe? Had he done something similar in past relationships?

“Okay,” breathed Debbie loudly as she returned to the kitchen, “They're set up in front of the tv now.”

No one said anything in reply, and she seemed to pick up on the strange atmosphere as soon as she reached the table to gather the serving dishes. She sent a look to Carl, who simply smiled in return. Mickey nearly snorted in amusement at the kid's casual way.

“What were you guys talking about?” asked Debbie slowly as she headed towards the counter.

“Carl asked about us dating,” explained Ian, just before he started the dishwasher.

“Oh.”

Mickey nervously rubbed the back of his neck, hoping Debbie would be just as okay with it as Carl clearly was. It was quiet again as Ian and Debbie both gathered the last of the dishes from the table and covered the last remaining spaces of the countertops.

Carl continued to look casual, though, as he sat back and eyed Mickey again. Just as Mickey was preparing to stand up and retreat to the outside for a cigarette, he finally spoke again.

“Debs said you work with John?”

“ _For_ John,” corrected Mickey as he crossed his arms and braced himself for the really scary questions.

“That sucks,” returned Carl, “That how you two met?”

“Chime in anytime you want, Gallagher,” grumbled Mickey over his shoulder.

Ian let out a laugh as he turned to face the table. He looked at his brother and slowly shrugged.

“Uhh, yeah,” he concluded with a nod. “Met in the lobby of Woods Tech and just hit it off.”

“Cool,” smiled Carl.

Mickey felt like Carl's blasé reaction was spinning his head even more than if he would've reacted badly. It was even a bit unnerving.

“So, when are—“ began Carl, before Ian interrupted.

“How about you ease up on Mickey, alright?” said Ian, “We're figuring our stuff out, just wait for the results. Maybe you can ask normal questions?”

“Like what?” returned Carl with a confused look.

But, there was something that stole Ian's attention. He pulled his phone from his pocket and Mickey swore he _felt_ himself go pale. He nearly jumped out of his seat at the thought of Ian taking a call now, of all times, but Ian moved so quickly.

“Gotta take this, sorry. It's John,” he announced, waving the phone in the air as he began to back towards the doorway, glancing at Mickey apologetically. “But, seriously, leave Mickey alone. Maybe talk about yourself, huh?”

Mickey sighed the second Ian disappeared, answering his phone. He ran a hand down his face and reached for the beer again.

“I just signed up for the National Guard,” offered Carl, actually listening to his brother's wishes.

Mickey nodded as he swallowed down the large drink he'd taken. “That's good. You always want to do that?”

“Nah,” dismissed Carl, “I got into the idea a few years ago. Met this guy that—“

“Yeah, no one cares, Carl,” interrupted Debbie suddenly as she moved to sit beside Carl, fixating her eyes on Mickey.

Mickey's mind raced with several excuses to walk away—like the bathroom or something—but then Debbie spoke before he could even twitch, as if she had been waiting for this very opportunity all night and could no longer contain herself.

“So, are you gonna try to get Ian to leave John?”

“Uhh...” Mickey looked between the two and _really_ wanted to run away now.

They were both staring with intense interest, such concern, and the spotlight began to sizzle Mickey's skin.

“Like, is it a fling, or do you actually care? It seems like you care,” continued Debbie, “Ian's done enough for everyone, so we're kind of hoping you're worth it.”

“Yeah, are you sticking around? Or are you mooching off of what he's getting out of it?”

“I don't know what the fuck you two are talkin' bout,” lied Mickey, dropping his gaze to the bottle in his hand.

“We're not stupid, you know,” said Debbie with stiff expression, “We know why he married John. He's never talked to either one of us about it, but it was pretty obvious. We all just play pretend for his sake.”

“Yeah, Mr. Moneybags just _so happened_ to propose while Liam was on the verge of going into the system,” added Carl with an annoyed tone.

“Right,” said Debbie with a roll of her eyes, “But, it's weird, ya know? Ian introduced him to us like it was real, so we just played along. And every time I talk to him alone, he still pretends.”

Mickey crossed his arms and simply raised a brow as the two went on staring at him, obviously seeking confirmation. He wasn't about to rat Ian out, even if the whole situation really was blatant at this point.

Debbie sighed loudly and stood to return to her cleaning in the kitchen, all the while ranting, “Whatever. Guess we'll just stay out of the loop, as usual. Nevermind that we're his _adult_ siblings, just like Lip. Don't even tell me he doesn't know. I know he knows. But, Carl and I have to stay in the dark, for no reason at all. Makes sense, sure.”

Carl let out a laugh, drawing Mickey's gaze back to him. He shook his head at Mickey, as if telling him to ignore her grumbling, and said, “Just take care of him, alright? Or I'll sneak into your place and set your bed sheets on fire while you're sleeping.”

Mickey laughed out loud at that, actually understanding that communication better than any exchange yet. “I get it, kid. Don't worry.”

Carl smiled sincerely and Mickey felt himself warm up internally at the genuine love they clearly had for their brother.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate John?” continued Debbie suddenly, apparently still unsettled. “I didn't like him when I met him. And obviously Ian's not happy with him. I mean, just look at how he ran out of here in a panic to answer his phone, like some trained monkey, or something. Oh, and then he was a total asshole at my wedding.”

“Oh, yeah,” laughed Carl, “He got mad cause I kept calling him _sugar daddy_ all night in front of Kyle's family.”

Mickey spat out a laugh and then all three of them were laughing together.

“Holy shit, I'd pay good money to see that,” spoke Mickey through his laughter, “I can imagine his face.”

“He ended up leaving early,” said Carl with a proud smile.

“Which was great, because Ian got to cut loose after that,” added Debbie.

Mickey could imagine. He could also imagine what kind of hell Ian caught when he got home, which dimmed his amusement a bit.

“You know that's why we're asking questions, right?” spoke Debbie, luring Mickey's gaze over his shoulder to her, “It's just because we haven't seen Ian this happy and relaxed in such a long time. We're hoping he's finally going to focus on happiness.”

Mickey nodded in understanding and softly replied, “He's getting there.”

Debbie smiled at that and sent him a grateful look. Mickey felt himself deflate a bit. Maybe the conversation hadn't been as terrifying as he expected. He understood very well where they were coming from, anyhow.

“You should talk to him about this stuff,” suggested Mickey, glancing back to Carl, “Both of you. I'm sure it'd mean a lot to him, if he actually knew how worried you two are.”

Ian had talked to him many times about just how alone he felt, and now seeing the backup he actually had, he knew he didn't have to be. If everyone could just get on the same page.

Debbie returned to the seat next to Carl with a freshly opened beer and a strangely concerned look on her face.

“Uhm,” she paused, glancing at Carl, then asked, “Do you know if he's taking his meds?”

“I dunno anything bout that,” shrugged Mickey, but when he watched the other two frown at each other worriedly he added, “I mean, he brought them to my place. Took some this morning, for sure.”

“Okay, good.” Debbie visibly deflated. “He's acting normal, so that means he's been consistently taking them.”

_He's acting normal._

Those words attacked Mickey with curiosity. And though he felt wrong asking, he couldn't stop himself. He had to know.

“How does he act when he's not taking them?” asked Mickey tightly.

“Depends,” shrugged Debbie, “Sometimes he's totally fine. But, it gets pretty extreme. You'd notice.”

“Yeah, like he could be really hype—“ began Carl, but his words halted completely as his eyes darted off to where Mickey knew Ian must be returning.

He glanced over his shoulder to confirm and spied Ian, tucking his phone into his pocket, and walking towards them. “Okay, so sorry about that,” he breathed as he glided back to his seat beside Mickey. He looked between the other two and asked, “You guys didn't grill Mickey, did you?”

“Nah, they're fine,” dismissed Mickey, “Can we finally go have a smoke, though?”

Ian grinned and agreed immediately. The other two sent Mickey grateful looks as he rose and Debbie spoke, “You guys can do that in the basement. Just turn on the fans.”

They collected their cigarette packs from their coats and then Ian led Mickey back to the kitchen, into the mudroom where the backdoor was across from the basement door. Ian turned on a light and led the way down the solid wood stairs.

“Oh, shit,” said Mickey when they reached the bottom of the basement steps, “Didn't expect this.”

The basement was large, carpeted, and not only had a pool table, but also a foosball table, and a large card table. Ian flipped a switch that turned on the two ceiling fans and smiled at him.

“Nice, right?”

“Yeah,” grunted Mickey as he lit his cigarette. He sucked in a hit and looked at Ian with a clever smile as he went on to say, “We should have this in our white picket fence house.”

Ian grinned, letting out a laugh, and agreed, “Sounds good to me.”

They made their way to the card table where a black plastic ashtray was holding half of a cigar and sat down next to each other. Mickey continued observing the room for a moment, looking off to a set of couches and smaller television, then to a fridge in the corner.

“So, they really didn't bug you too much, right?” asked Ian with a nervous glance.

“Nah, I said it was fine.”

Ian nodded. “Felt bad leaving you alone with them.”

“They were mostly just checkin' how you were doing. Kinda sweet, actually.”

Ian's smile turned warm and he bowed his head as he took a hit from his cigarette. Mickey watched him for a moment with appreciation. Thus far, he really liked this other part of Ian's life.

“So, what did the asshole have to say?” inquired Mickey.

“Just checking in,” shrugged Ian, “Told me all about his boring day with his family. Seriously cannot tell you enough how happy I am that I didn't have to go this year. It was so uncomfortable last year.”

“Don't even wanna imagine.”

“Yeah,” exhaled Ian, blowing smoke out towards the table. “His flight gets in at six tomorrow night, so at least we can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Planning on keeping me up late, Gallagher?” smiled Mickey.

Ian's responding heavy look was enough to flutter Mickey's stomach with excitement, but then his hand was sliding onto Mickey's thigh and he was leaning in close. He couldn't stop his smile from growing as the redhead invaded his personal space, eyeing Mickey's face with intense interest.

“Planning on a lot of things,” spoke Ian lowly, “I'm gonna wear you out.”

Mickey quirked a brow and returned, “That a challenge?”

Ian grinned. “Sure. There's no way you could outlast me.”

“Pft, I'll bet your ass'll be snorin' by midnight.”

“There's no way,” chuckled Ian, “Feeling pretty worked up.”

“Clearly,” said Mickey with his eyes dipping down to where Ian's hand had risen to the top of his thigh, “But, that just means it's gonna hit you harder and exhaust you.”

Ian simply laughed again and cleared the last of the space between them to kiss Mickey. And he suddenly loved the basement even more, as it had already felt like an eternity since the last time they'd kissed. Down here, in the privacy, they kissed with longing, with slow growing heat. Mickey's hand found it's way to Ian's neck where his thumb traced a few soft lines and circles.

But then Ian was pressing in harder, opening their mouths wider in a needy motion. His hand crept up higher on Mickey's thigh until he was palming his bulge.

Mickey laughed into Ian's mouth and pulled away to murmur, “So what got ya so worked up, Firecrotch?”

Ian chuckled at the familiar endearment and whispered against Mickey's lips, “Maybe it turns me on how well you fit in with my family.”

Ian proceeded to drive home his point as he pressed his hand in and moved the heel of his palm in a circular motion, which had Mickey's eyes falling shut and his mouth falling open more. Ian took advantage and gently sucked on his bottom lip.

Mickey smiled and let loose a breathy groan before latching on to an impressive amount of self-control to push Ian's hand off of him.

“Save all that for later.”

Ian pulled back and sighed, “You and your waiting.”

Mickey snorted and flicked the long ash on the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, before finally taking another hit.

“You really gonna get me off in your sister's basement on Christmas?”

Ian laughed and looked around, as if remembering where they were, and replied, “Uhh, guess not.”

Mickey laughed thoroughly, shaking his head at Ian.

“You got some real fuckin' tunnel vision sometimes.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Ian bashfully.

Mickey just grinned at the sudden change. Now Ian was blushing and only glancing at him, as if he hadn't just been all over Mickey a moment ago.

“Nah, I fuckin' love it,” dismissed Mickey as he reached out to the redhead once more.

He grabbed a handful of Ian's shirt and yanked him back over so he could kiss him again. This time Ian set his cigarette down in the ashtray and caressed Mickey's jaw with both hands. Mickey kept hold of Ian's shirt and pulled harder as he kissed him faster and hungrier, even though he was aware that this wasn't going to calm either of them down. Ian eagerly matched it all.

“How late we plan on stayin'?” asked Mickey breathlessly between kisses.

“I thought—“

The sound of the basement door opening had both of them yanking away from each other instantly. Ian grabbed his cigarette again while Mickey glanced over at the stairs in time to see a herd of people heading down, with Lip at the front.

“What'sup,” he said with a nod, “You guys wanna play some poker?”

Mickey soon felt a bit disoriented as it seemed to all happen so fast; suddenly almost everyone was squeezed in, sitting and standing around the card table, and the loud buzz of chatter from earlier filled the air again. Debbie turned on music from the other side of the room, and loudly asked over it if anyone wanted a drink. There was a responding chorus of yes's from almost everyone at the table, but Ian, Lip, and Mickey. Although, Mickey did actually want another drink, so he stood to help Debbie.

She had gone to the smaller fridge in the corner, setting the baby monitor she held on a small table beside it. He watched her quietly for a moment as she gathered several bottles of some sort of ale into her arms.

“Here, let me have some,” offered Mickey, causing her to jump a bit before she looked back at him with surprise.

“Oh, thanks, Mickey,” she smiled as she began to pass them off to him instead. “You know, you're a lot nicer than I expected a Milkovich to be.”

“Yeah, well, don't let me fool ya. Most of 'em are real assholes.”

They each carried four bottles back over, including a glass bottle of coca-cola, which Mickey curiously watched Debbie set in front of Lip.

Deciding to sit a few rounds out, Mickey offered his seat to one of Kyle's cousins and stood back behind Ian to instead focus on sipping his drink and _actually_ smoking a cigarette. He'd been a little too preoccupied with Ian's mouth to really get much out of his last cigarette.

A good half hour passed of this, in which Mickey occasionally leaned down to whisper suggestions into Ian's ear about how to play the game. This only seemed to garner him glares in return, which endlessly amused him.

He was back to feeling utterly relaxed. Mickey wasn't sure what he expected from a family's christmas celebration, but it certainly wasn't this. This just felt like a normal party, which was familiar and actually fun. And had him pulling his phone from his pocket to send out a simple text to his sister.

 **Mickey:** _Merry xmas [christmas tree emoji]_

He expected to get a reply late in the night, or even the next day. So, it was extra surprising when his phone began to ring a few moments later. He furrowed his brow at it, before tapping Ian on the shoulder. He held up his phone and Ian nodded in understanding.

Mickey answered it and spoke loudly into it, “Yeah, hold on.”

He then rushed up the stairs and into the abandoned kitchen, before continuing, “Mandy?”

“Hey, Mick,” returned Mandy, “What's got you in the holiday spirit?”

He snorted loudly into the phone and replied, “All I said was merry christmas.”

Mandy laughed.

“Where the fuck are, anyway? Sounds like you're in a bar.”

“Uhh...” His eyes darted around the kitchen for a moment, before he let out a laugh and cryptically answered, “You'd never fuckin' guess.”

“Then just tell me, asswipe.”

“Debbie Gallagher's.”

Mandy went quiet—so quiet, for such a long moment, that he checked his phone to make sure the call was still going. Just as he was about to ask if she was still there, laughter tumbled through the phone and he rolled his eyes.

“I'm sorry, what?” She spoke through her laughter, “The fuck are you doing there?”

“I was invited,” defended Mickey.

“By Debbi—Oh. Wait, holy shit. Did Ian invite you?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So what? Mick, are you guys actually screwing around?”

“We've been hanging out. Don't get your panties in a wad.”

“Stop being an ass. What does _hanging out_ mean? Did his husband join you two?”

“No, he's on the other side of the country with his family.”

“So you _are_ screwing around,” chuckled Mandy, “I'm so proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” laughed Mickey, “What are you doing? Where ya at?”

“Miami. So weird to see christmas lights on a palm tree.”

“People actually do that?”

“Yeah, it's kind of beautiful. And I'm making double my going rate, since it's a holiday.”

“That's fuckin' nice. Don't blame ya for spending the holiday with an old creep then.”

“He's not old, Mick. He's actually pretty hot, just, you know, lonely or whatever.”

“Yeah, know the type,” murmured Mickey with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I just wanted to call real quick and make sure you didn't have a concussion or something that made you send me that text.”

Mickey smiled a bit and pulled in a breath, “Nah, just miss you, is all.”

“Miss you, too,” replied Mandy softly. “I might have a job in Chicago next month. So, maybe I could take you out to dinner, or something?”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

“Okay, cool,” returned Mandy, with a smile in her voice, “Well, don't be a stranger.”

“Yeah, back at ya. And, you know, be safe.”

“Always am. Tell your boyfriend I say hi.”

Mickey snorted, but squashed down the retort that instinctively wanted to jolt out of him.

“Alright, I will. Text ya later?”

“Okay. Bye, Mick.”

“Bye.”

Mickey was suddenly aware that in all his loneliness in the last several years, that he didn't actually need to be as isolated as he had felt. Just like Ian with his family, Mickey was reminded that he also had someone who could be there, if he'd only ask.

He felt unexpectedly serene as he traveled back down to the basement to rejoin the party. And he knew his gaze was soft as it connected with Ian's across the room. So much so that the redhead gave him a curious look and met him near the pool table with a quizzical lilt to his words.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” smiled Mickey, “Mandy says hi.”

Ian's expression lit up, “Did you tell her we were together?”

Mickey shrugged and returned, “She's smart, she figured it out.”

Ian was then leaning in even closer, his expression morphing into nothing but warmth. Mickey nervously glanced around the room, but no one was looking at them.

“I'm glad you decided to come with me, Mick. I've had a really good day.”

Mickey pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as he eyed Ian for a soft moment, knowing full well he was smiling with his eyes.

“Me too,” breathed Mickey.

The door to the basement was opened, followed by the sounds of clopping heels on the steps, and before Mickey could even turn there was an uproar of cheers and greetings.

Kevin and Veronica were grinning and both wearing santa hats as they returned enthusiastic greetings. Ian departed from Mickey's side to move to the other side of the pool table where he and Debbie both met Veronica with hugs.

“It's been too long!” said Ian, just as Mickey's gaze collided with Kevin's.

He looked endlessly amused as he headed towards Mickey instead of the Gallagher siblings.

Kevin took his time in his approach, wearing a boisterously smug look, which had Mickey rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Shut the fuck up,” he sighed the second Kevin was within earshot.

“Hey,” Kevin's hands shot up in mock surrender, “I didn't say anything.”

“You did with your fuckin' eyes.”

Kevin laughed, “Good to see you, Mickey.”

“Yeah, whatever. Better not breathe a fuckin' word about this, alright?”

“Ian looks happy,” shrugged Kevin, “That's all that matters.”

Mickey nodded, finding himself feeling pleasantly exposed, but nervous, still. He glanced over to Ian, who was beaming as he chatted with Veronica and Debbie about something. He really couldn't deny how happy he seemed to be—all day, even.

“Knew those were _fuck-me_ looks.”

“What?” asked Mickey, quickly looking to Kevin with confusion.

“Nothing,” smiled Kevin with a soft laugh, “Nice hickey, by the way.”

Mickey scowled and flipped Kevin off as he wandered away, back to where he'd left his drink earlier.

*

The atmosphere changed in the next hour as the music was turned down enough for conversation and two of Kyle's cousin's left. Folding chairs were brought out from a closet and an outer circle was created around the card table, until everyone was sitting. And then it became more familial and intimate. Mickey quietly listened to everyone sort of give their own life updates to the group, as if everyone just naturally wanted to be on the same page. It seemed like, possibly, the best way to wind down the night. Until Veronica softly admitted the thing that changed everyone's demeanor.

“Heard from Fiona last week.”

Mickey watched each and every one of the Gallagher siblings deflate a bit, their expressions all washed in a miserable range of emotions. He eyed Ian curiously who almost looked relieved—but, then Debbie spoke.

“Yeah, she called me, too.”

Those words brought on hurt to Ian's expression that Mickey certainly didn't miss. Although, Ian definitely tried to hide it from everybody else as he lowered his head and hardened his expression.

“Still alive, huh?” spoke Lip, breaking the silence as he reached for a cigarette.

Veronica nodded, “I guess she's in California, now.”

“Great,” drawled Lip sarcastically before exhaling his first hit forcefully, “I hear they've got great blow out there.”

“Lip,” chastised Debbie softly, “We don't know that she's still messed up.”

“She's the new Monica, Debs,” returned Lip, “Get used to it. She learned all about the three year benders from her.”

“Did she seem okay?” asked Carl.

“Yeah. She seems really happy,” answered Veronica with a smile. “Went on and on about how good the weather is for her out there. She was really glad to hear how well you guys are doing, too.”

Lip let out a grim laugh.

“I'm sure it cleared her conscious to know that Ian and I cleaned up her mess. Never mind what we sacrificed to do it. Fuckin' Monica 2.0, I'm tellin' you.”

“Give it a break, Lip,” murmured Ian.

“What, you're not bitter about her just up and going, anymore? _You_ , of all people?”

Ian stiffly leaned back, crossing his arms; his tension palatable, now. As Lip slowly raised his cigarette back to his mouth he shifted his gaze from Ian to Mickey, who wasn't sure how to look or what to say, so he looked away.

“She put up with a lot of shit for a long time, Lip,” said Ian quietly, “She kept us together for most of her life, so I don't blame her for finally breaking. Just want her to be okay.”

Lip scoffed loudly and suddenly leaned forward on the table, as if ready to dive across it.

“Ian, you had to adjust your meds after she left,” argued Lip, “You gave up your freedom and recovery process, _because of her_. You've been miserable for almost two fucking years, now.”

“Jesus christ,” snapped Ian, “I really didn't give up anything worth while, so who gives a shit? We're a family, we do what we have to. It's always been that way.”

“Exactly, and she still fucked off.”

Ian groaned and returned, “You've always held her to higher expectations. You need to get the fuck over that. That's _your_ shit. Doesn't mean that's how the rest of us feel.”

“Yeah, okay. You're just fine with it now because you've got a Milkovich keeping your dick warm.”

Mickey's brows quickly shot up as his gaze zipped back to Lip. He couldn't believe the cocky smile on Lip's face as he pressed on, “You had plenty of bitterness before he came along. Pretty fuckin' pathetic that you're fine with suffering, _now_ , just because you got a new fuck buddy out of the situation.”

“You got somethin' to say to me, then say it, _Phillip_ ,” challenged Mickey with a tilt of his head.

“Nah, Mickey, I don't have a problem with you,” dismissed Lip, “You might actually get Ian to start thinking for himself again. See, Fiona left and screwed Ian over and he's such a fucking martyr that he's got no problem just pissing his life away for the cause. As usual.”

“I'm not!” argued Ian, “I'm actually going to fucking _finish college_ , so I can have a comfortable career, unlike some people. I'm doing what I've got to do for _my future_.”

“The fuck you are,” returned Lip loudly, “You're doing what you got to do for everybody, but your fucking self. You've had this complex ever since you fell off your meds the first time.”

“What the fuck do my meds have to do with anything?” yelled Ian.

“Do you know how hard it's been to watch you give up on literally fucking everything since you were diagnosed? When Fiona ran off she gave you the perfect fucking cause to keep doing that!”

Ian abruptly stood and threw his chair into the table, barely missing Mickey's arm in the process. He then moved to Lip's side like he was about to attack, but instead leaned down towards Lip's face to quietly, but angrily, speak, “You're projecting and it's fucking pathetic. Get over yourself.”

With that Ian stormed out of the room and upstairs, slamming the basement door shut behind him.

“Geez, Lip,” said Debbie in disapproval, “You didn't have to be so harsh.”

“Seriously,” agreed Kevin, “You just took everything out on him.”

“How the fuck is he supposed to get his mind straight when he's married to that asshole, pretending to be somebody else? He needs to hear that he deserves better, and that he's suffering because of _her_. He's gotta accept that shit and stop defending her.”

“Mickey said he's taking his meds. He's doing fine,” pointed Debbie, causing Lip to look at Mickey curiously. “And what good does it do him to blame everything on Fiona?”

“He's right, dude, you're just projecting,” said Carl.

Mickey found his intrigue less in their conversation and more towards how Ian was doing, so he stood and left without saying another word to the siblings.

Ian wasn't in the kitchen, so Mickey headed down to the living room, glancing to all of the rooms in the process. When he reached the living room he found Liam on the couch, with twin girls sitting on either side of him, watching him play his handheld game. But, he stopped to look back at Mickey, then pointed towards the front door, saying, “He went outside.”

Mickey nodded and gave him a grateful look. He grabbed Ian's coat from the rack by the door and threw on his own before stepping out. Ian was sitting on the swing at the end of the small porch, shaking his right leg furiously and staring at the porch like he hoped to set it on fire with his mind.

“Hey,” said Mickey.

Ian glanced at him, but only glanced. His expression hardened that much more, so Mickey walked over and sat on the swing. He laid Ian's coat over his shoulders and murmured, “Fuckin' freezing out here, man.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Ian as he pulled his coat tighter over his shoulders, before slipping his arms through it.

“You wanna go?” asked Mickey, “I could drive.”

“No. Just give me a minute,” replied Ian tightly.

“Sure.”

Mickey pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up as they sat in the silence, casually passing it over to Ian once his lungs were full. Ian's leg was still shaking wildly as he sucked a few hits from it.

“Sorry about all that,” offered Ian quietly as he passed the cigarette back.

“Every family's got their shit, don't worry bout it.”

Ian sighed and sat back in the swing. “I think we all feel a lot of shit about Fiona, but Lip's always defaulted to just resenting her. I did too for a long time. Brought up a lot of shit, ya know?”

“Yeah, that's understandable. When, uh, when was the last time you talked to her?”

“The day before she left,” answered Ian quietly, “She left me a voicemail, though, three days later. She was a wreck.”

“What made her go?”

Ian was silent for a long moment, as if he'd been transported back to that time in his reflection.

“A lot,” said Ian vaguely, “Her life kind of fell apart.”

Mickey understood that very well, then. He wasn't going to say it aloud, though, given Ian was clearly processing everything and he didn't want to redirect it. So, Mickey remained quiet. They both did for a while, until he took another hit from his cigarette and passed it back to Ian. As their fingers brushed in the process, their eyes connected. Mickey saw the vulnerability, the fear, that was sitting right up front in Ian's gaze.

“So, now you know I'm crazy, huh?”

Mickey eyed him for a moment, considering he still didn't know the actual truth. He'd been given more clues, but nothing solid. He contemplated asking Ian once and for all what his condition was, but that fear in Ian's eyes had him dismissing it all with a shrug.

“Don't seem crazy to me,” murmured Mickey.

Ian scoffed. “Yeah, because despite what Lip seems to think, I'm stable.”

“I don't know nothing bout that shit, man. None of my business, anyhow.”

Ian sighed as he stretched his legs a bit, making the swing rock only as far as their planted feet on the porch would allow.

“I've wanted to talk to you about it, you know. I almost did this morning. I swear, I wasn't trying to keep anything from you, or whatever. I said I'd stop doing that shit and I meant it.”

“I know,” said Mickey sincerely.

Ian turned his head to look at him and Mickey's heart cracked as he gazed on at his wounded expression. Mickey frowned and added, “It sounds like some real personal shit, so tell me whenever you want, alright? Don't do it just cause your brother's an asshole.”

A smile cracked on Ian's face and he looked away, down to where their legs were pressed together. He reached for Mickey's hand to hold and pulled it into his own lap.

“I appreciate that, you know,” spoke Ian as his fingertips traced the faded tattoos on Mickey's knuckles. “It's really not a huge deal, anyhow, since I've got it under control. It only matters if you're planning to _stick around_ , so that's why I didn't tell you yet. I don't know how long you're wanting to put up with everything. Or what you even think this whole thing is.”

“I mean, it's a fuckin' mess,” said Mickey, causing Ian to laugh out loud. Mickey chuckled quietly before continuing, “And we're kinda at a disadvantage, given your marriage limits us to one night a week to date, or whatever the fuck.”

“You don't consider our morning car rides dates?” questioned Ian with a teasing smile as he glanced up at Mickey. “Or our phone conversations?”

Mickey smiled in return to the playful look Ian gave him, and replied, “Hard to know, isn't it? The whole thing's unusual. But, if you're gauging your shit on whether or not I feel like we could have something fuckin' real between us, then...Yeah, course I think so.”

Ian quickly looked at Mickey fully then. The pain in his expression was gone, but it was replaced with the familiar hopefulness that always made Mickey feel like he was the lifeline Ian was reaching for. Like he could see Ian reaching up from the well he was stuck in.

“Really?” breathed Ian, “You feel like you'd want something more with me?”

“Why would I put myself in a risky situation if I thought it was just sex?” countered Mickey, “I can get laid without the risk to my job, man. Obviously, I fuckin' _like_ your persistent ass.”

Ian smiled and leaned a little closer, “But, I mean, do you think you're starting to fall for me?”

Mickey tilted his head, looking away with a heavy sigh of discomfort. He ran his tongue along his top lip, wondering if Ian really needed it spelled out for him, or if he was just needy for escape from the pain he had been soaking in earlier.

When he returned his eyes to Ian's he felt that intense thing that was impossible to fight inside himself. He wanted to breech new territory with the redhead, he wanted to expose his nerves and let Ian see the skeleton beneath.

“Yeah,” Mickey barely squeezed the word out, but he kept his gaze pinned to Ian's, and that combination was the most frightening thing Mickey had felt in a very long time.

The high he felt after when Ian went on to smile with genuine happiness was the greatest reward he could imagine. Until Ian left his hand alone and raised his to the side of Mickey's face, softly touching his jaw as he said, “I'm falling for you, too. Pretty fuckin' hard, actually.”

Mickey grinned, dropping his gaze away, but felt Ian's forehead collide with his in an intimate way that had Mickey pulling in a breath and tilting his head until more of their skin connected.

“Doesn't mean I'm gonna fuckin' get your name tattooed on me or anythin',” murmured Mickey playfully.

“Nobody fuckin' asked you to,” returned Ian with a laugh, before he captured Mickey's lips in a sweet and brief kiss. Mickey exhaled a butterfly-laced breath out on Ian's lips, wishing they were back at his apartment already, so they could just keep doing that—keep soaking in this beautiful honest moment. It was all so new to him, he wanted to keep exploring it with Ian.

“Though, you would look hot with my name on your chest,” joked Ian, “Or better yet, your ass.”

“Fuck off,” laughed Mickey, before he pulled Ian into a deeper more expressive kiss.

And there was something different in the following long, deep, kisses they expressed. There wasn't just the usual heat and desire, but something else. Understanding, maybe. Or a new found comfort that said they were both on the same page. They had both signed the same invisible document that admitted to the depth of what was between them. They were reaching further into their futures, now.

Whatever it was exactly, Mickey wanted to feel it every day of the rest of his life. He could face the world and all of it's attacks, with this feeling inside of him.

The squeal of the front door opening had them breaking apart and looking over to where they found Lip watching them. He didn't even try to pretend that he hadn't just caught them making out on the front porch. But, he didn't look disapproving or surprised. He looked neutral as he moved closer, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

It was quiet, so quiet, as Lip lit a cigarette and they both waited for what he had come outside to say. Mickey looked to Ian for guidance, but found the redhead was back to staring hard at the porch.

As Mickey returned his gaze to Lip he found the older man staring at him. He decided to let his intentions known without words and sat back in the swing, keeping his eyes pinned to Lip's. Then while stretching his right arm over the back of the swing, behind Ian, Mickey reached over and plucked the rest of his cigarette from Ian's fingers, to take in a slow drag that said he was going nowhere.

Lip seemed to smirk at that.

“Wanna give us a minute, Mickey?” asked Lip reluctantly with a nod of his head.

“Nah, I think I'll fuckin' stay where I am,” dismissed Mickey with a smile laced in attitude.

Lip let out an annoyed laugh and shook his head, looking off towards the road for a moment. And Mickey was ready, prepared for whatever Lip tried next. But, then Ian looked at him.

“It's alright, Mick,” he spoke softly.

Mickey studied him for a moment, taking in the gratitude and fight in Ian's bright eyes. As one corner of Ian's mouth rose a bit, Mickey sighed and nodded. He wasn't experienced with talking things out with family, but he was aware that's what most did.

Mickey stood and returned his attention to Lip and for a moment he let silent threats shine through the look he gave Lip. Then he flicked the remainder of his cigarette out into the yard and headed towards the front door.

“Maybe try not to be a total dickhead for once in your life, huh?” he said as he walked pass Lip, who snorted in return.

“Sure, Mickey.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and disappeared inside.

 

 

 

 

 

**

Lip casually dropped into the empty space left by Mickey on the swing. Ian waited and waited, bracing himself for whatever was about to come out of his brother's mouth.

“So, Mickey Milkovich, huh?”

Ian sent a tired glance to his brother and and sighed, “Say what you really wanna say.”

“Yeah, alright,” nodded Lip as all casualness fell from his expression. “Look, I shouldn't have been so harsh on you in there. I just worry about you, you know?”

“Got a funny way of showing it.”

Lip chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“I thought you'd be nicer after getting off the booze.”

“You don't think I'm nice?” returned Lip in mock surprise, which had Ian rolling his eyes. Lip smiled at him before continuing, “You really got the short-end of the stick, Ian. I feel guilty that you've taken the brunt of it all.”

“Don't. It's just the way it goes.”

“Doesn't have to, though, does it?” pointed Lip, “You really do have a hero complex, you know.”

“So what?” breathed Ian tiredly.

“So, I think you need people to point out when you need to lay down your guns.”

Ian had a natural impulse to argue that, but unfortunately there were plenty of examples in his life that said otherwise. He just couldn't find any solid ground to stand on if he wasn't doing something meaningful for others. Was that so wrong?

“I worry about her, too,” admitted Lip quietly, “Shit, I regret not helping her more when I had the chance. I just had so much shit to deal with then.”

“We all did.”

“Yeah.”

It grew quiet between them as they both obviously took a stroll down memory lane with regret and _what if's_ at their side. He listened to Lip pull a hit from his cigarette and felt a heaviness in his chest making its way up.

“I can't wait to leave John,” admitted Ian quietly. “I'm not lying to myself about it. I just can't give in when I'm so close to the finish line.”

“A year? That's not very fucking close, Ian.”

“It's not that far, either. Not when giving up could mean losing all the progress we've made.”

Lip blew out a loud breath before replying, “We'd figure it out. We always do, right? All that matters is that we'll still have Liam. That's what this was all about, right?”

Ian tensed, a horrible feeling churned his stomach, and he fought down the truth for a sickening moment.

“I can't start over again, Lip.”

His brother looked to him then and he hated the shame he felt as he admitted it; as he faced his big fear in front of someone else.

“I can't,” he shrugged hopelessly. “I've had to start over so many times already. Every single time I've spiraled in the process, and I'm so fucking tired of it. I don't ever want to feel that way again.”

Lip frowned and asked, “You don't think you will when you graduate and divorce John? Won't that be starting over?”

“That's in the plan,” pressed Ian, “That's on the path. But, if I have to take a turn that's not all laid out, all planned, then....I'm not confident in myself. I don't know how the fuck I'll handle it.”

“Hey, that's why I'm trying to tell you that I'm here for you, alright? I've got your back. And I know you can handle it, whatever choice you make.”

Ian shook his head as he heavily disagreed internally. He felt so fragile, he knew he was walking on thin ice already. If he had to deal with the pressure of figuring everything out on top of it, he'd be doomed.

“You're not going to figure it all out tonight,” continued Lip more casually, “It's Christmas, anyhow, cheer up.”

He nudged Ian playfully, who gave him an annoyed look in return.

“Uh, you're the one who attacked me in the basement, asshole.”

“That wasn't an attack, that was a motivational talk.”

“Yeah? Well, you suck at motivating, then.”

Lip laughed and Ian chuckled along with him.

“You didn't have to air my business, either, you know,” spoke Ian, “I haven't told Mickey about the bipolar thing yet.”

“Really? Well, why the fuck not?”

Ian glanced at his brother, frowning a bit out of shame, then leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees as he gathered all of his reasoning. But, really it came down to just one thing.

“I like him a lot, Lip.”

“Yeah, I can fuckin' see that.”

“No, I mean...” Ian blew out a breath and looked to Lip before continuing, “I really fucking like him. Like, I want a future with him.”

“Isn't that all the more reason to tell him about it?”

“I'm scared,” admitted Ian quietly, tightly. “The situation is already hard enough on him. What if that's the straw that breaks the camel's back? I mean, haven't I brought enough baggage with me already?”

Lip smiled and looked away. He shook his head a bit as he began to speak, “Isn't that what love's all about? Taking chances? Aren't you supposed to bare it all and hope for the best? Obviously, you know that a relationship without honesty is a doomed relationship.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ian quietly.

“And anyways, if you've really got your shit together then what does it matter? If anything, you'll just be preparing him in case anything does happen. Imagine if you don't explain anything and next thing you know you're having a manic episode. Mickey wouldn't understand it's the disorder, he'll just think it's you.”

Ian hated how much sense that made, because now he felt there was no way to talk himself out of it. He couldn't take that risk. He couldn't let Mickey potentially go through something like that without understanding.

“I guess I just wanted to stay in this happy bubble we have right now, and not risk it with anything.”

“You wanted to stay in a fantasy,” accused Lip, “You just want him to see you as this perfect fuckin' being, and not the _human_ you are.”

“Shut up,” murmured Ian with an amused glare for his brother.

Lip smiled broadly, knowing full well he'd hit the nail on the head. He took one last hit from his cigarette and added, “He really seems to care about you, too, you know. He's not going to reject you for some shit you can't control about yourself.”

Ian wanted to believe that so badly. He wanted Mickey to know everything about him, just as much as he wanted to know everything about Mickey. But, that didn't change how terrifying it all was.

**

Mickey stopped off at the bathroom to take a piss before returning to the basement. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he realized the music had been changed over to christmas music, which seemed to be made of up to date remixes, and most everyone was standing now, back to chatting and laughing loudly. Debbie and Veronica were even dancing, which had Mickey murmuring, “What the fuck.”

It was as if no disturbance had ever even happened. He strolled over to the fridge and dug out a can of pop from one of the drawers. As he was opening it Kevin made his way over to him and tried to casually pry at what was going on upstairs.

“Hey, man, Ian alright?”

Mickey nodded as he swallowed down his first fizzy drink from the can.

“He's fine. Lip wanted to talk to him, though.”

Kevin slowly nodded in return and said, “You're a good dude for going to check on him. Seems like you two got a good thing going.”

Mickey sent him a disbelieving look and snorted.

“Yeah, alright, Dr. Love,” he replied, “You wanna shoot a game of pool?”

“You're on,” agreed Kevin with a grin.

They made their way over to the table and found a few sticks leaning against the wall where it seemed an old bedside end table was sitting. Mickey set his drink on it and quickly stated like a child, “I'm breaking, by the way. So rack 'em up.”

Kevin laughed and said, “Alright. Just don't think that's going to help you win.”

“I don't need strategy to beat you,” challenged Mickey as he watched Kevin gather the balls into the black plastic triangle he set on the table.

“Oh yeah? You wanna put some money down on this?”

“Fuck yeah,” nodded Mickey confidently, “Twenty?”

“Bring it on, Milkovich,” returned Kevin, looking up at him with a challenging smirk, “I'm taking your ass down.”

Mickey chuckled, “Not likely. I've been hustling on the table since I was a kid.”

Kevin carefully lifted the triangle rack away from the well placed colored balls and then waved it as he spoke, “That makes two of us.”

“What's going on over here?” asked Veronica in a curious sing-song tone as she approached.

Mickey sent her an amused look, but Kevin beat him to the punch line.

“Oh, nothing,” he said as he made his way around the table to join them. “I'm just about to whoop Mickey's ass and buy our baby girls some new shoes.”

“Yeah, we'll fuckin' see bout that,” returned Mickey as he carried his chosen cue stick to the end of the table where the obviously abused cue ball was waiting.

He got off to a good start, getting both a solid and stripe into pockets. He chose stripes as he continued, sinking two more balls before he messed up his third shot.

Mickey returned to his drink on the small table where Veronica was still standing. He sipped it for a bit as Kevin took a few turns—getting lucky, in Mickey's opinion. But, Mickey didn't pay too close attention as he found himself summoning courage to ask Veronica a question. It took a moment, with a few glances at her.

He ended up leaning a little closer, too, as he began, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Veronica seemed uncertain as she looked at him, almost guarded even. When she then nodded her head he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, still gathering motivation, then turned his attention back to the game in front of him.

“Why doesn't Fiona call Ian, too?” asked Mickey, finally. “I mean, if she calls you and Debbie, why wouldn't she call him?”

She was quiet, to the point that he thought she wouldn't answer. So, he looked at her curiously and found her big brown eyes coated in emotions. She frowned a bit as she went on to speak.

“She's not stupid, you know,” began Veronica quietly, “She knows what she did to them. I think she's too damn scared and ashamed to reach out to them.”

“Well, she should be,” stated Mickey as he set his drink back down, “But, she needs to get over herself. It seems like Ian just misses her and they just gotta talk their shit out.”

She looked genuinely surprised at his words, but not for what they were; more like who they came from. Mickey nervously twitched his lips to the side and returned his gaze forward to the pool table just in time to watch Kevin scratch. They said nothing more as he returned to the game, spouting off more smack talk towards Kevin in the process.

Mickey's focus honed on the game and he began to sink ball after ball, until he only had two remaining. As he walked around the table to position himself for his next shot, he sent a cocky look towards Kevin.

“Come on, Mickey,” whined Kevin in return, “You gonna deny my girls new shoes?”

“Not my problem,” laughed Mickey, before stilling himself to line up his shot.

But then the basement door was opening as he took the shot, which ultimately screwed him up. The punch of hope and curiosity had made his brain fizzle as he launched his pool stick forward in the wrong spot. The ball he had been aiming for was hit near the side, causing it to swirl in the wrong direction.

However, he wasn't too upset as he saw Ian, who smiled at what had become of the downstairs party. His eyes were soon on Mickey and his legs were guiding him to his goal in a casual movement.

“Let's see how well you do now with a distraction, huh?” teased Kevin under his breath as he passed him on the way to line up his next shot.

“Fuck off,” returned Mickey immediately, flipping Kevin the bird once more.

“Hey,” greeted Ian as he reached his side.

Mickey sent him a nod, then glanced at where Lip had wandered off to.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah,” smiled Ian.

It was warm and intimate, and made Mickey squirm a bit as they were standing in the center of the room where everyone could see Ian's obvious expression of adoration.

“Thanks, Mickey,” added Ian with a meaningful tone.

Mickey's heart sputtered as he understood the depth of Ian's words. He returned Ian a sweet smile and looked forward in time to watch Kevin take his shot with a smirk on his face. He glared at him as the ball landed in one of the pockets.

On Mickey's next turn he had to go to the opposite end of the table, and he frustratingly found Kevin's teasing to be accurate. With Ian in his sights it was hard to focus, hard to think of anything but how Ian was watching him. Still, he tried very, very hard to focus on only the cue ball and the striped ball at the other end of the table. And it was a miracle that he got it right, sinking the striped ball into a corner pocket. It fueled the grin that sprouted across his face as he stood up and turned to look at Kevin.

“What were you sayin' about distractions?”

Kevin laughed and returned, “What if I get him to take his shirt off?”

Mickey rolled his eyes as he returned to the other end where the cue ball had come to a stop.

“Me?” chirped Ian confusedly, “I'm taking my shirt off?”

“Ignore him,” returned Mickey with a palm sticking out towards Kevin's direction, “He thinks he can cheat.”

“Hey, man, I'm just trying to help you out,” joked Kevin, “Give my opponent what he wants.”

“Yeah, I don't need your help in that department, thanks,” stated Mickey confidently as he bent over to line up his second to last shot. There was extra force to this move, causing it to happen at lightning speed, and the cue ball to halt the second it finished it's job.

Mickey's chin was lifted and his walk was laced with extra swag as he smirked at Kevin and made his was to the side of the table to take his final shot.

Mickey motioned to the corner he was about to sink the eight ball into and Kevin gave him a stubborn look in return. The second he won, before he'd even stood up straight, Kevin was yanking the santa hat off of his head and spitting out, “Double or nothing?”

Mickey laughed, while Veronica sighed.

“Oh, lord, this shit's gonna go on all night,” she grumbled as she walked away from her husband to rejoin the rest of the party.

It didn't. But, it _did_ last until Mickey was tucking fifty bucks into his pocket with a proud grin on his face. He turned his attention to Ian, who had sat down at the table with his siblings again sometime during the third game. What he found, though, made Mickey's smile dim.

Ian looked tired. More than that, he looked exhausted. Especially as he curiously watched him for a minute or two.

His eyelids seemed to be set at half-mast permanently, like he was barely hanging on to his surroundings. Mickey watched him smile and bark out jokes, but the second everyone else looked away, he would sink back down into a tired form.

Mickey could only stand to watch him like this for so long before he moved to his side, instantly garnering his attention. He set a casual hand on his arm and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Hey, you wanna get goin' soon?”

He pulled away to gauge Ian's reaction to the suggestion, which was initially something close to suspicion or curiosity. But, then, Ian's tired eyes crinkled a bit into a smile and he nodded his head.

“Sounds good.”

Ian stood with a soft groan and stretched for a moment. Mickey tried hard not to watch too closely. “I can go start the car if you want?”

“Thanks,” smiled Ian, “You don't have to go outside, though, just hit the button on the fob.”

Mickey nodded and headed towards the stairs, while he listened to Ian announce, “Hey, guys, we're gonna get going.”

The goodbyes took forever. Really, Mickey wished he had lit a cigarette when he returned downstairs, because as he stood back and watched he swore that each person took a few minutes each with Ian. It was sweet, really. But, also too fucking long. Most everybody gave Mickey a smile and wave as soon as they were done bidding goodbye to Ian, which Mickey was fine with. But, Debbie actually walked over to him.

“Thanks for joining us,” she said politely.

He smiled a bit and nodded, “Yeah, uh, thanks for havin' me.”

“I like you,” stated Debbie with a definitive nod of her head, “I think you could be good for Ian. Don't fuck it up, kay?”

He raised his brows at that, but slowly caved into a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.”

She gave him one last smile before walking away. Soon, Ian re-joined him and seemed a little bit more revived.

“Ready to go?”

Mickey nodded and motioned towards the stairs. They both gave another goodbye with waves of their hands as they headed up the steps. Remembering that there was a whole group of kids Ian needed to say goodbye to had Mickey stopping off into the bathroom again before their long drive back could begin.

He thought about that a lot, even as he waved goodbye to the children and reapplied his coat. It really was such a long drive for Ian to make, looking the way he did. And so as they were walking towards the curb where the car was already running, Mickey asked, “Can I drive?”

Ian paused, casting a suspicious look over to him, to which Mickey scowled at.

“Why?” asked Ian as they neared the car, both settling at the back end of it.

“Because, I want to,” shrugged Mickey, looking at anything other than Ian. This only seemed to make Ian more suspicious, though. He went as far as to cross his arms and tilt his head at Mickey, who frowned and carefully looked him over in return. “It's a long drive, don't act like you want to drive it.”

Ian said nothing. He didn't even twitch.

“Alright, you look fuckin' tired and I'm just tryin' to be nice, jesus,” admitted Mickey.

“You don't have to baby me. I can handle it.”

Mickey snorted at that and gave Ian an amused look. “Shut the fuck up and gimme the keys.”

Slowly, gradually, Ian broke. He smiled in return and pulled the keys from his pocket to hand over to Mickey.

“Thanks, Mick.”

Mickey shrugged off the kindness and returned, “I haven't driven a nice ass car like this before, anyhow...Well, _legally_.”

Ian laughed as he made his way to the passenger seat and Mickey grinned to himself as he made his way to his own seat.

 

**

The first chunk of the drive was pretty quiet. With the exception of Mickey's review of how the car handled, his inspection of all of the features, and the way he quietly hummed along with the music on the radio. Ian couldn't stop watching him. He wondered if that was why Mickey could only sit still and quiet for so long, because he could sense his placement under the microscope.

“You doin' alright over there?” asked Mickey at one point with a glance.

“Yeah.”

“Not fallin' asleep on me, are ya?”

“No, I'm not that kind of tired,” answered Ian honestly.

Mickey gave him another glance, this time with a furrowed brow.

“It's more of a mentally tired thing.”

Mickey nodded a few times, but said nothing. Ian looked him over curiously, and felt it—felt the moment arriving organically. He couldn't ignore it, or press it down, anymore.

“So, um, Lip made some good points tonight about being honest with you about stuff.”

“Like what?” returned Mickey with a concerned glance.

Ian pulled in a long breath of preparation before letting it out—letting the truth drop from his tongue into the air between them.

“I'm bipolar.”

 


	17. I'll Refer to You as My Special Love, the One That Set Me Free

Ian watched closely—even closer, still. Mickey's eyes danced around the road in front of them, in a calculating way, and his tongue snaked out to pull his bottom lip into his mouth. Ian's heart raced more and more as the pause extended and grew. This was it, _he was done_ , he thought irrationally, worriedly. It was too much.

Then Mickey glanced at him again, this time with a quirked brow, as if he was waiting for more. Ian's mouth went dry as he tried to figure how to go on without a real reaction to the initial statement. Slowly Mickey shrugged.

“Okay,” drawled Mickey quietly, “So, what's that mean?”

Ian pulled in another long breath. “Uhm, it's kind of complicated.”

“'s cool,” returned Mickey, “We got all night, right?”

Ian looked Mickey over again, surprised by his willingness to dive into it all, even while not knowing what it was. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised at all. Mickey had been shockingly careful and understanding all this time, after all.

“Well, to explain it in the _simplest_ way, I have extreme mood swings. I'm talking really high highs and really low lows. And sometimes they mix together.”

“So, what, you're like pissy one day and happy the next?”

Ian snorted, “Not really. More like, being on top of the world and hyper ambitious followed by debilitating depression. There's different kinds, though. I mean, it's different for everyone. But, my mania is pretty extreme.”

“Mania?”

“Yeah, my high highs. I don't sleep much, make really irrational shitty choices, do risky stuff, can't sit still or shut up, sometimes I get paranoid and delusional and...” Ian let loose a breath, shaking his head, “It's a whirlwind.”

“Sounds like a meth high,” murmured Mickey.

Ian chuckled, “Yeah, kinda.”

“What's it feel like?”

“Amazing,” sighed Ian, “Like fucking euphoric. That's the scary thing about it. It's hard to want to take pills that'll make it stop when you _feel_ unstoppable, you know?”

“I'd imagine,” agreed Mickey.

“Yeah,” mumbled Ian with a nervous glance. “But, it really fucked my life up.”

“How so?”

Ian looked down to his lap as he folded his hands together. It took a moment as he swallowed down the mix of regret and unnerving disbelief he always felt upon reflection of his memories.

“Hey, man,” chirped Mickey, luring Ian's gaze back to him. Mickey had a small smile on his face when he looked to him. “You don't gotta tell me shit. I'm curious, but that's a non-fucking-factor. Tell me what you want.”

Ian slowly smiled and reached out for Mickey's right hand. He pulled it over and pressed the softest kiss to the back of it.

“You know, you're surprisingly sweet, Mick.”

He watched Mickey nervously smile in reaction, his face reddening in the process, and felt himself relax.

“Yeah, uh, whatever,” mumbled Mickey, “Pass me a cigarette.”

Ian snorted and released the tattooed hand to fish out his pack of cigarettes. He lit one and passed it off to Mickey, then lit another for himself.

“Okay, let's see,” exhaled Ian, “Ran away, identity theft and illegally joining the military, tried to steal a chopper, went AWOL, did a lot of drugs, had a lot of risky sex, stole a lot, prostitution, attacked a few people, got caught by military police, refused treatment for a while, may or may not have been involved in some plans that would be considered terrorist attacks against some homophobes, served some time in county because of it, drove my family up the wall, escaped a psych ward and hitchhiked a few states over, uhh...”

Mickey's brows were so high he swore they would be swallowed by his styled hair. He watched him as he waited for any kind of verbal reaction.

“That all?” spoke Mickey with a glance.

“Did some risky porn at some point,” shrugged Ian.

Mickey let out a laugh. “Christ, Ian.”

Ian turned his gaze to the road with a soft laugh leaving him. He took a hit from his cigarette and continued, “No, there's a lot more, though. A lot of little stuff. And a lot of stuff that's kinda foggy and surreal. That's just the shit I either got caught for or did frequently.”

“How young were you when this shit started?”

“Uhh, around sixteen or seventeen.”

“So, it just happened to you? It's the hereditary thing you mentioned before right?”

“Yeah, my mom—Monica—had it,” answered Ian solemnly.

It was quiet for a bit while Ian lost himself in reflection of his mother and the approaching city lights. Until Mickey rolled up his window and broke the silence.

“So, your pills keep you balanced?”

“Basically, yeah. Routine is really important for me, too.”

That had Mickey looking to him with concern, which threw Ian off. Mickey went on to frown and grip the steering wheel with both hands.

“What?”

“Well, this isn't really good for you then, right?” returned Mickey tightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Having a fuckin' affair. Sneaking around. Isn't that shit risky?”

Ian sighed, “Please don't do that, Mick. I have all that shit under control. Lip was scared my arrangement with John would send me off the deep end, too, but I've stayed stable all this time.”

Mickey silently nodded and Ian tried not to feel worried.

“So, the other side of that is depression? It goes back and forth?”

“Yeah. Sometimes they're weeks or months apart, but sometimes I could go from manic to depressed in the same day.”

“That's gotta be rough.”

“Yeah,” returned Ian quietly.

He wasn't sure he could ever describe how unbearable it was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The anxiety of just how extreme it might hit him, how long recovery would be. A knock at the back of his head reminded him of a warning that had been slowly climbing up more and more recently. Ian turned his attention to the passenger window and rebuked the thoughts. He was fine. He was a hell of a lot better now than he had been all year. He had a source of happiness, now—he had Mickey. He didn't feel consumed with loneliness, he knew every Friday there would be a break from his misery.

Yet, there was still a concern of being overwhelmed. A concern of falling apart.

“Does John know about it?” asked Mickey, breaking Ian from his worried trance.

“Yep. I don't think he believes a bit of it, though. He's teased me about it a lot.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me,” returned Mickey with a bite. “You go to therapy ever?”

That seemed a bit unexpected, so Ian furrowed his brow and carefully spoke, “Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering,” shrugged Mickey, “Does it help?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I think it helps to have a professional outside perspective to keep me in check.”

Mickey nodded while he checked the surrounding traffic to merge onto their exit. Ian, admittedly, was excited to be back in Mickey's apartment, where they could maybe talk more without a two ton distraction.

“Yeah, uh, had a therapist help me with that, too.”

This admission actually took the breath from Ian as it was the last thing he expected. He looked to Mickey with a dumbfounded expression, unsure of what to say for a moment. Any time he had attempted to pry into anything too personal in Mickey's past the man had clammed up, so there was a fear of asking for more information and overstepping a line.

However, staring at him like an idiot didn't help anything, either.

“The fuck you lookin' at?” grumbled Mickey as they came to a stop behind the stoplight at the end of the exit lane.

“Sorry, I just...didn't expect that. You've kind of kept stuff like that locked up from me.”

“It's not a big deal,” dismissed Mickey, but he did so with a sharper tone. “That shit's in the past, so, who cares?”

“I care. I wanna know everything about you, Mick.”

“You bout to get sappy on me, Gallagher?”

Ian chuckled and countered, “That a problem, _Milkovich_?”

Mickey smirked in a glance during the turn that had them traveling down the road Mickey lived on. Ian swelled with warmth even as they went on to sit in silence for the rest of the drive. The whole day had seemed to bring them closer and closer together in such an impactful way that Ian felt just the tiniest bit more whole.

Once parked in the back lot of Mickey's apartment they exited the vehicle in synchronization and Mickey tossed the keys to Ian in a casual movement that had Ian smiling at him.

“So, what'ya think? Gonna buy one for yourself?” joked Ian, motioning back towards the car.

“Yeah, maybe in another life,” laughed Mickey with a roll of his eyes.

When they entered his apartment and stripped themselves of their coats Ian released an audible breath.

“What's wrong?” inquired Mickey as they hung their coats up beside each other.

“Nothing, I'm just happy to be back here.”

Mickey smiled and turned towards him. “Was Christmas a bit much?”

“In a weird way it's been the best Christmas yet,” admitted Ian, “How about you? Is it too much?”

Mickey seemed to catch on to the undertone of that question.

“Not at all.”

Ian nodded for a moment, happily taking in the full details of Mickey's face.

“Got any questions?”

“Want a drink?”

Ian laughed, “I meant about what I told you.”

Mickey chuckled and headed for the kitchen. “Yeah, I'm sure I've got more questions, let's just get settled. Your family wore my ass out.”

Mickey returned with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass tumbler. He then jerked his head towards the hallway and Ian followed him down to the bedroom. Mickey set the bottle and glass on his nightstand, kicking off his shoes.

Ian nervously watched for a moment, before summoning the courage to say, “We really don't have to talk about anything. If it's too much, or whatever.”

Mickey turned with a quirked brow.

“Didn't I just say it wasn't?” he spoke, “All that shit is your thing, man. I've got no place to dismiss it.”

“You don't gotta worry about insulting me or anything, Mick.”

“Do I fuckin' look like someone who worries about insulting people?”

“You don't look like it, but you are,” argued Ian, which garnered a look of disbelief in response from Mickey. Ian sighed and added, “With people you actually give a shit about, I mean. Don't worry, you're still a tough guy.”

Mickey snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay, well, I _do_ want to hear more about it,” continued Mickey with emphasis. “It's part of ya, right? Believe it or not, Gallagher, I wanna know about you, too.”

Ian's stomach fluttered and a smile broke through his worried expression.

“You're really not freaked out?” he asked quietly.

“Why would I be?”

“This isn't going away, Mickey. I'm going to battle it my whole life.”

“So why would that freak _me_ out?”

“It affects people around me. If you're sticking around, you might have to deal with it. You might see other versions of me. You might have to do stuff my family's had to do before.”

Mickey's chest expanded as he drew in a long breath, which ended with him shrugging.

“'kay, I've been warned.”

Ian was so blown away by his casualness that he laughed. And laughed some more, while he collapsed face first onto the bed, kicking his shoes off behind him.

“What, _chuckles_?” huffed Mickey as he sat on the bed.

“You just...” Ian lifted his head to look at him and smile, “Surprise me. You're being so _whatever_ about it.”

“How do people normally react?” asked Mickey with a scowl as he bent his knees up and reached to pour his drink.

“Varies,” groaned Ian as he hauled himself up and crawled to sit in the spot beside Mickey. “Mostly there's invasive questions, or they mix it up with other stuff like schizophrenia, or they just pity me.”

“I mean, it does sound like it sucks, but you're obviously not the kinda guy that wants to be babied.”

Ian loved it so much that Mickey understood him that well. He beamed at him, which had Mickey sending him an amused smile in return before he sipped his drink.

“Anyhow, fuck everybody else. How'd _you_ deal with finding out about it?”

“Not fucking well,” chuckled Ian. “It took a lot to even accept it. Didn't feel like I could move forward anymore. I knew myself so well—knew who I was, what I wanted to do with my life and then... everything just flipped upside down. And even the way that everyone looked at me changed.”

Ian readjusted his legs, stretching them out, and moved one of the pillows higher behind him. He felt Mickey's eyes on him the whole time, but didn't return the gaze.

“Everybody I knew started looking at me like I was a stranger, or a bomb they were just waiting to detonate. All my siblings started handling me with kid-gloves and treating me like our mom...It was all pretty humiliating. I think it made it harder to accept. Monica was the only one who understood, but she wasn't exactly a good influence. She was always off her meds.”

“Can't imagine if I found out there was something that made me like my dad,” spoke Mickey pensively.

Ian turned his head to look at him, finding the man staring down into the brown liquor inside his glass.

“Yeah, it was strange, because I understood her so much better, but I dunno, um, we're like two sides of the same coin, ya know? I'm not her, but it helped me accept that I'm pieces of her. And it honestly helped with a lot of the resentment I had for her. Didn't make any of her choices right, but at least I could grasp them.”

Mickey nodded as he looked to him with understanding.

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah,” smiled Ian gently, “I think so, too. It's really hard to explain to my siblings. Which I get, but. I, uh, I—I don't really get to talk to anyone about stuff like this.”

“What'ya mean?” murmured Mickey.

“I mean, usually everyone's got opinions, not questions. I appreciate that you're just letting me talk about my side.”

He barely turned his head enough to look at Mickey, who simply made a face in return. He took a swallow of his liquor before saying, “Like I keep sayin', what'd I know bout this shit? How can someone have an opinion if they're not going through it?”

Ian laughed grimly, “They find a way.”

“Yeah, I'm actually familiar with people's stupidity like that,” returned Mickey, before inhaling the last of his drink. He let out a loud breath and reached out to shake the cigarette pack on his nightstand. There were a couple inside that rattled, so he lit one and Ian watched him slouch a bit more.

“So, what was the deal with the army? Why'd you run off like that?”

“It was what I always wanted to do, you know? It was always my plan. Things were really messy at home, and I guess I kind of got hyper-fixated on it—mostly due to the disorder, I think—and maybe I saw it as the one true answer. No matter how I had to get it, I felt like I needed to start that next part of my life.”

Mickey took another hit and passed the cigarette over, speaking as he exhaled, “That I actually get. I'm where I'm at now, because I had to get on to the next part of my life. It was that or death, man.”

“What do ya mean?” asked Ian with a quizzical look.

“I mean, the life I left behind was unlivable anymore, so I started over. You think if you'd gone in legally you'd still be in?”

Ian didn't miss the way Mickey quickly redirected the conversation back to him. He found it extremely curious how Mickey seemed to want to relate, and maybe even talk about whatever catalyst led to his life changes, but still seemed incapable of fully getting there. He considered pushing him, but the same fear he felt in the car again stopped him.

“I'd love to say yes, but no. I mean, I was getting away with everything, but my manic episode was pretty intense. I was doing risky shit in basic all the time. It was pretty hardcore.”

“Fuckin' sounds like it,” agreed Mickey as he accepted the cigarette back, ashing before he drew a hit. “What made you finally get on the meds?”

Ian frowned. “I was having paranoid episodes. Thinking shit was happening that wasn't. That's the kind of shit that...can be risky to people around me. I almost hit Debs with a baseball bat one time.”

“Christ,” said Mickey, “Yeah, I'd say that's enough to scare ya.”

“I'm sure everyone around me felt like I saw the light, or accepted what I had to do, but honestly it felt like I was giving up on myself. I can never just be me, again, only the _medicated me_. I felt like I wasn't in control at all, in any way, and just gave up my self for the sake of the risk to everyone around me.”

“That's pretty fuckin' heavy,” noted Mickey very quietly.

Ian sent him a shameful glance, uncontrollably frowning. He felt like his entire wounded self was on display and he couldn't turn back. He couldn't tuck it away anymore.

He found himself shuffling down until he was laying beside Mickey instead, as if the weight of his truths had exhausted him too much to stay seated. He stretched his legs again and heard Mickey putting his cigarette out in the small ashtray on his nightstand.

“So, you're cool with your meds now, right?”

“Yeah,” breathed Ian, “After going off them before I really started appreciating the help they give me. I am what I am, but at least there's something that helps.”

He felt Mickey moving and turned his head to watch as he also laid down, tucking his right arm under his head. His left hand fell between them, landing on Ian's hand. Ian felt a sting of relief as Mickey's fingers wrapped around his. Mickey was still staring off, the wheels in his head visibly turning, and Ian swallowed roughly through his dry throat.

“I do appreciate you being so cool about it all,” spoke Ian, “If you really do want to try with me, you're bound to see it. And telling you this stuff isn't going to make it real, until it's an actual reality.”

“You're really scared, huh?”

Ian's tummy uncomfortably clenched at the truth of that.

“I really like you, Mick. I've lost people before, because they couldn't handle it. I've had boyfriends that constantly accused me of being off my meds every time I did something they didn't like. Or friends that watched me like a hawk, like if I did go off my meds I'd run around lighting buildings on fire or something. My family has been so stressed in the past, like if they took their eyes off of me I'd disappear or find all the knives they thought I didn't know they'd hidden. It puts a wall between me and everyone else. I don't want that with you.”

Mickey nodded and went quiet for a bit. Ian felt it again, _he was too much_. This was overwhelming or too dramatic for Mickey. He was a simple guy, after all. He tried to push away the stinging in his eyes as his emotions got the best of him once more. But, then Mickey spoke again, yanking his gaze back to him.

“You're still the same to me.”

Ian smiled appreciatively, wondering if there was any other sentence that had ever soothed him as much as that one did. Mickey looked at him, again, his eyes darted down to Ian's smile, before he smiled softly in return and stroked Ian's hand with his thumb. Mickey looked away, towards the ceiling, but Ian continued watching him for another moment.

It was all perfect. And maybe it wouldn't always be, but for now Ian tried to just enjoy the moment that it was.

When he finally looked away, it was to look at Mickey's hand. Ian lifted it up, first letting his eyes trace the faded lines of his tattoos before reaching his other hand up to run his fingertips along the blotchy, almost grey, jagged lines.

“No one ever says anything about these at work?”

“Nah, they're faded enough you can only really tell what it says if you're looking hard enough. I did put makeup on them before my interview just in case.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah, still wanna get the rest zapped off, though”

“How long you had these?”

“Too long,” murmured Mickey, “Part of the whole _menace to the city_ facade, you know.”

Ian smirked a bit as he turned his head to look at him. “Wasn't really a facade. People were scared of you.”

“Oh yeah? Like you?”

“Didn't have any run ins with you, unfortunately,” breathed Ian, returning his gaze to Mickey's fingers, “But, I knew people who did. I mean, your whole family had enough of a reputation. Mandy was even a little scary when I first met her.”

Mickey snorted at that. “Yeah, love that little psycho,” returned Mickey with fondness. “She's a god damn survivor, man.”

“Like you are, right?”

Mickey paused. Ian kept his eyes on his hand, on the way his own fingers touched it, knowing that looking at Mickey now would only confirm the way he was obviously fishing for more details of his past.

“Guess so,” answered Mickey.

Ian smiled and pulled Mickey's hand down to his mouth, pressing a few kisses along the knuckles he had studied. He then interlaced their fingers and let their hands fall between them again.

“You know, I, uh...The first guy I tried dating after I got on my meds was this fireman—”

Mickey interrupted the story with a rude snort, which only had Ian looking to him with another smile.

“Shut up,” he chuckled before continuing, “Things were normal with him, like, in a conventional, mature, way. It made me feel like I stood a chance of leading a _not-crazy_ life, again, you know?”

The amusement was gone from Mickey's face as he regarded Ian with a painful hint of sympathy in his expression.

“It didn't work out, for _many_ reasons. Turns out he wasn't as conventional as I thought,” said Ian with a touch of bitterness, “Then there was this other guy. He was really admirable. And I, again, saw a life I could live, with him, that I never thought I could have again. One that was meaningful and _normal_. And we had a lot of fun. We'd go out all the time and it made me feel like my old self—before the meds. But, you know, there was no spark. We could've been really good friends, but I forced it, like some fucking desperate broken person. I just wanted to be a normal person with a normal relationship and a normal fucking job and life. I was trying so hard then to find my way.”

Ian clenched his jaw and looked away, as admitting it out loud felt so vulnerable that he felt his defenses rising. He swallowed roughly and shook his head a bit.

“So, of course that one didn't work out, either. Shit really went to hell around then. I got in trouble, lost my job, did that time in county and all that. Next thing I know I'm back to square one. No routine, still crazy, and shaking my ass for money, _again_. That's when I met John, and obviously that wasn't even close to anything that could make me feel hopeful about my future.”

“But, it gave you something to focus on, right?”

Ian pulled in a shaky breath and nodded before finding his voice again. “Exactly. I didn't have to think about my future if I just focused on keeping my little brother around and giving him his best life.”

He felt Mickey's eyes dancing around his profile, and decided to keep the conversation on the path he'd originally laid out.

“The point I'm trying to make is...” Ian turned more to look Mickey head on and paused. He let the feelings he wanted to convey wash over him, until he was smiling ever so softly. “When I said that everything feels _normal_ when I'm with you, that's a big fucking deal to me.”

Ian felt emotion rise up his throat to choke him as Mickey's gaze went the softest he'd ever seen, as if he understood exactly what Ian meant; as if he felt what Ian felt. Ian reached out and gently caressed the side of Mickey's face as he watched his blue eyes sweep over him with genuine care.

“I've been chasing that since I first accepted that I'll always be sick. And you make sense to me in a way that none of my exes ever did—in a way that's not some bullshit hope of what I could be, but just being who I actually am. I can be myself with you. You're a perfect mix of put-together and still rough around the edges. And that's what I need. That's what just fucking makes sense to me, I guess.”

Mickey let out a breathy laugh as he turned onto his side and locked his eyes onto Ian's.

“You sayin' I fit with you perfectly because I'm fucked up, too?”

Ian smirked a little and turned onto his side, as well, as he replied, “Kinda.”

This only made Mickey smile wider and move in closer, so they shared the same breath. Ian shut his eyes for a moment, soaking up the moment and hoping for a kiss to vent the nearly overwhelming feelings he felt.

“I get it,” whispered Mickey, “Didn't think I'd ever meet someone I could be like this with. Thought my ass was too damaged to ever feel comfortable with a guy like you. But, it's like fuckin' effortless and shit with you, Ian.”

“Yeah, it's kinda unbelievable.”

Like they were coming back to each other, not just starting. Like they'd known each other for years, or other lives, even.

They looked each other over, as if both having the same curious thoughts on their perfect fitting. Ian hoped that this night was a glimpse of their future. That they could stay in this steady place. Because, truly deep down he was scared shitless.

And this fear was on a multitude of levels. He was scared of the magnitude of his feelings for Mickey. He was scared of how helpless to resistance they made him feel. But, he was most scared of losing everything he'd found with Mickey. He knew deep down that Mickey wasn't going to hang around waiting for him to leave John for too long. That kept his hope in a flickering state of panic.

But, when Mickey smiled at him in the way that he did in this next moment, everything shut off in Ian's brain. It always did. Worry didn't exist.

He kissed Mickey, with careful and caring movements of his lips, in attempt to express what this all meant to him. He felt free and accepted, and like time was slowing just for them—just for this moment. When Mickey's hand moved up to settle on his jaw, with his thumb sweetly stroking the skin below his cheekbone, he felt it in his core. He felt Mickey echoing his sentiments. And this drew Ian in deeper.

He wrapped his hand around Mickey's waist and pulled as he moved his own body closer, until their hips were bumping together and their legs were tangling. And for a while they settled in, endlessly kissing and softly touching one another. Ian's entire body was relaxed, his mind at peace. This was his happy place.

He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, wondering if he had even taken a breath in a while, and felt his heart tremble in response to the soothing fragrance that was pure _Mickey_.

His body uncontrollably pressed in tighter, his fingers curling in a little more on Mickey's back, and his tongue rolled out against the tip of Mickey's. It was all instinctive. His entire body reacted to Mickey in a way it never had to anything else, all the way down to his toes that curled happily.

Mickey let loose a soft sound that made Ian ache for more. He wrapped his arm tightly around Mickey's middle then rolled onto his back, pulling Mickey on top of him. His hands went under the soft fabric of his long sleeve to meet his silky skin, which Ian would never tire of feeling. He ran all ten of his fingertips up to Mickey's strong shoulders before grabbing hold of his shirt to pull it off. Mickey pulled his head and arms back to assist.

He returned his lips to Ian's in a flash, which had him groaning softly at the back of his throat as he traveled his hands around all of Mickey's newly exposed skin. Ian started to push, to roll Mickey back onto his back, however Mickey resisted. Going as far as to press his hand onto Ian's chest and hold him still. Mickey then broke their kiss to drop down to Ian's abdomen, lifting his shirt enough that he could immediately deliver hot wet kisses that covered all over his abs and sides.

Ian squirmed and moaned as Mickey worked his way around the entire area and ran his hands up under his shirt, lifting it more out of his way. But those hands soon dropped to his pants, unbuttoning them. He pulled them down, but not all of the way. Just enough that he could move his mouth along the top of his boxer-briefs.

Ian grabbed on tight to one of Mickey's forearms as he then dragged his tongue up one of his v-lines to the top of his hip where he gently bit down. Ian gasped and shut his eyes tight just as Mickey countered those shocks with soothing kisses that paved back up the center of his abdomen, all the way up to his chest.

Ian released his excited hold on Mickey and lifted himself enough to yank his own shirt off. Mickey didn't stop kissing him, though, he followed the movements, staying glued to his skin in the process. This had Ian wrapping a hand around the back of Mickey's head as he fell back onto the pillows again. As Mickey's talented mouth met his left nipple he slipped his fingers into his hair and pushed his body up into him. Mickey released a hot breath onto Ian's stimulated nipple before rising a little higher to lick and kiss his collarbone.

While Mickey's mouth continued to travel up higher his left hand pressed in tight to Ian's ribs and scorched Ian's flesh as it moved down lower. The heel of Mickey's palm pushed in even harder as it reached his abs and Ian swore this centered all of the pleasure in his body. So when he moved it down lower and lower the pleasure moved, like a tsunami of desire creeping down to his hard cock.

Ian was panting, his eyes rolling back in his head, as his focus flickered between Mickey's tongue on his throat and the wave of pleasure that seemed to be threatening him with premature release.

Mickey's hand pushed down inside of his boxer briefs and stroked the base of his cock like it owned every inch of it. Ian hissed, “ _Jesus, Mick_.”

Mickey lifted his head until his mouth was against Ian's ear where he let out a broken moan that had Ian quivering. The tip of Mickey's tongue ran along the edge of Ian's ear and he reacted without thought or care; he took hold of Mickey's hair and pulled his head back enough that he could kiss him.

And Ian kissed him fiercely with all the desire Mickey had summoned from him. His arms wrapped back around Mickey with his left slipping down so he could grasp his ass. Mickey responded by grinding down into him and his own hand, which had them both making small sounds into each other's eager mouths.

As they swallowed one another Ian reached down and pulled Mickey's hand out, so he could carelessly push his pants down. He rocked back and forth under Mickey while he worked them down far enough that he could kick them off the rest of the way. And as Mickey immediately dropped his hips back down onto him, he pushed them back away in a desperate motion, so he could tear his pants away, as well. Mickey smiled against his mouth while he kicked his own pants away, in a much smoother motion than Ian had discarded his.

And then, with only the soft and thin fabric of their underwear between them, when Mickey lowered himself back down and rolled his hips, Ian's body washed over in flames.

He spread his legs, welcoming in Mickey's movements with responding groans of pleasure. Both of his hands joined on Mickey's ass to pull him in even tighter as he continued grinding into Ian with a precise cadence.

Mickey pulled his lips away and Ian attempted to steady his breathing with his head rolling back just a little. As he managed three full breaths that carried sounds of pleasure—of needy pleas—he then opened his eyes to find Mickey watching him with heavy lidded eyes. His stomach twirled at the discovery. And his entire body trembled as Mickey went on to bite down on his bottom lip while he gave Ian a slower roll of his hips that pressed their flesh together even tighter.

Ian released a breathless swear and rolled them together, pinning Mickey down to the bed before he kissed him widely. Mickey's fingers plunged into his hair as they both tilted their heads in opposite directions to kiss even deeper.

Ian moved his legs to be between Mickey's and as Mickey dragged the center of his tongue across the inside of Ian's lips he reached down to push away his underwear. Once they were discarded he grabbed Mickey's thighs and lifted until Mickey bent his knees at his hips. He grabbed a handful of Mickey's boxers and pulled until they were down to his thighs and stretched. As Mickey reached down to finish the job Ian lifted himself more and instead focused his attention on the skin below Mickey's ear. He felt Mickey's movements stutter and heard the shaky breath he released, which fueled Ian to apply more pressure with his tongue against Mickey's skin. He lost himself to the taste of Mickey's skin and dragged his tongue over, under his chin. Mickey grabbed hold of his head and yanked him back to his mouth to kiss him with vigor. They rocked up off of the bed and back down as they kissed one another with equal amounts of thirst.

Ian laid himself between Mickey's legs once more and felt the hairs on his arms stand as his body tingled in reaction to their hot and stiff excitement meeting between them.

As he let his weight settle on Mickey, turning his head to kiss him deeper, he reached his left hand out blindly for the nightstand. He accidentally smacked his knuckles into Mickey's glass, which slid it into the bottle and resulted in a concerning noise. They both broke away to look, and Ian released a relieved breath when he found nothing broken. Their gazes met and they both laughed together.

Mickey's eyes danced around Ian's face while his hands roamed down to his lower back and Ian couldn't stop his joy from shining through his expression, until his cheeks hurt and his focus returned. He turned his head and pulled open the top drawer of the the nightstand to fish out the bottle of lube they had used every time, now. All the while Mickey's fingertips were feather soft as they danced across Ian's skin, which had his body squirming with a strange pleasure that he didn't mind at all.

As he squeezed out lube into his right hand he hovered his face close enough to Mickey's to drag his bottom lip over Mickey's plumped out lips. He watched Mickey's eyes close and smiled before very gently sucking his top lip between his.

He reached down to hook his left arm around Mickey's leg and pull it up in front of him. Ian shifted a bit to the left and lowered his right hand to lube Mickey up. He dragged the tip of his tongue across Mickey's bottom lip, which had Mickey opening his mouth to wrap around his tongue. Ian gave him more until Mickey was sucking on his tongue while Ian slipped a finger inside of him.

Mickey hummed around Ian's tongue and released it when Ian pressed a second finger in. He hooked his leg over Ian's shoulder, settling in, while Ian uncontrollably rubbed himself against Mickey's thigh as he worked his fingers inside of him. He nonsensically dragged his opened mouth over Mickey's, lost to the pleasure of his senses, until Mickey captured his mouth with his own again.

Ian loved how lost they got in one another, that there wasn't even any specific goal in mind, just the feel of one another. Their kisses were entirely opened and somewhat sloppy, but incredibly slow and hot. And as he pumped his fingers inside of Mickey he found his body rolling up in a matching rhythm. He used the momentum of his body to plunge his fingers in while their bodies rocked into the bed over and over. Mickey began to moan into him consistently.

This went on longer than needed, well after Mickey was ready, but it felt so good. His rewarding sounds of pleasure were all Ian really needed. He was buzzing with delight.

However, Mickey wanted more, considering he surprised Ian by suddenly wrapping a lubed covered palm around the base of his cock. Ian froze entirely with his hips slightly raised to allow Mickey room to stroke the slick lube all over him. His eyes nearly rolled to the top of his head as Mickey's tongue ran along his mouth and his hand steadily jerked him for a moment.

Mickey tilted his hips a little more and lined Ian up, then going so far as to raise himself enough that the head of Ian's cock pressed inside. He hissed against Ian's mouth and Ian swallowed the sound in a hungry kiss. He practically smothered Mickey in every way as he rocked himself inside more, laying more of his weight onto him again, and wrapped his arm tightly around Mickey's thigh in front of him; kissing Mickey harder and harder into the pillow beneath him.

Mickey encouragingly met Ian's thrusts with his own movements that had him taking Ian in quickly. Ian groaned loudly into Mickey's mouth as he grasped a handful of Ian's bright hair while his other hand reached down to his ass and pulled him in even tighter. He felt so desired, felt so needed, that his throat tightened up. He was entirely inside of Mickey now and couldn't move. He was taken by the overwhelming emotion he felt.

He pulled his lips away, lifting his head enough to look down at Mickey. Their eyes met and he watched as Mickey's swarmed with interest, before understanding passed over his expression. Ian felt so raw that he knew very well it was plain in his expression. And Mickey accepted it without hesitation. He stared back at him with patience and care, like they had all the time in the world.

Ian's mind raced with their conversations through the night and he really couldn't believe how easily Mickey accepted everything about him. How lucky he truly felt being at Mickey's side.

Mickey's hand on his head slid down a little more to the back of Ian's head and he began to pull. Ian let him guide his head down until their foreheads were resting together. Ian closed his eyes and let loose a breath onto Mickey's face.

“You okay?” asked Mickey quietly.

Ian smiled and whispered, “I'm just...happy.”

Mickey responded by lovingly stroking his hand down the back of Ian's head a few times. Ian titled his head and kissed Mickey slowly once more, but this time much softer. He felt every centimeter of his lips and it made his body buzz again with delight. He swore every bit of his skin tingled as Mickey returned the kiss with every bit of gentleness that Ian dished out.

Ian slowly pulled himself out a bit and just as carefully pushed back in. Their lips danced with more firmness together as he repeated this. They were speaking to one another with these kisses; agreeing and echoing feelings. Their tongues met with a few soft, silky, strokes and swirling movements until they were both opening their mouths wider simultaneously.

Ian continued to keep his thrusts languid and meaningful and Mickey didn't seem to mind one bit. He didn't ask for more, physically or verbally. They both seemed entirely pleased to take this climb together slowly.

And they truly did. For so long that Ian had to apply more lube and his body began to ache and overheat. But, still he was endlessly hard and determined to stay in this moment with Mickey for as long as he possibly could. Every wonderful and intense feeling inside of him grew more and more powerful the longer it lasted with Mickey seemingly just as satisfied as he was. That alone spoke to Ian, of how equally they seemed to feel for one another. And having another confirmation of Mickey feeling for Ian the way that Ian felt for him was the most pleasurable thing he could ever imagine experiencing.

He left warm kisses along Mickey's collarbones and chest, sucked possessively at his neck, and ran his fingers up and down his thigh. But, as he noticed Mickey repeatedly adjusting below him, as if maybe his joints and muscles were growing stiff in the same position, he lifted himself up to switch things. They looked at one another as Ian nearly pulled himself out of Mickey.

Ian sent him a smile as he lifted Mickey's left leg, kissing his calf in the process. Mickey returned him a pleased smile just before Ian ducked around his leg and rolled him onto his side. Ian pushed back deeply into Mickey as he laid onto his side behind Mickey. He immediately wrapped his arm around him and began to press kisses up the top of Mickey's back while he settled.

Mickey moaned and arched his back, pushing his ass into him more. Ian started rolling his hips again, thrusting into Mickey with a little more power than he had yet. He watched Mickey tuck his chin closer to his chest, pressing into his pillow and exposing the back of his neck more. Ian barely resisted for a moment before shifting closer to kiss his skin from the base of his neck up to nearly his hairline.

Mickey's hand wrapped around Ian's and pulled his arm even more snugly over him. And then the pleasure was no longer just consistently perfect but steadily growing with each pulsing thrust. Ian panted against Mickey's neck until lowering his head to rest on his shoulder.

He breathed in Mickey and felt his jaw quivering as he let out a long moan laced with his name. Mickey suddenly seized up, tightening around him, and let out a string of broken and breathy grunts. And all of Ian's overwhelming feelings quickly turned to pure euphoria. He couldn't even comprehend what he felt, as if he'd stepped out of the physical realm. His brows were furrowed tightly as they both rode out their orgasms together, melding together so tightly. He was hugging Mickey so close as he expelled the last of his orgasm, gasping in his everything, and repeatedly thinking of one word: _Love._

Even when they'd finished they stayed like this for a long moment, basking together in the remnants of the experience. He felt Mickey kissing his hand and smiled. He lifted his head and opened his eyes only to realize they were wet. Ian swallowed roughly and turned his head to wipe his wet eyes on the pillow below him. He pulled himself out of Mickey, who then shifted to look back at him.

They exchanged smiles and Ian briefly wondered if the evidence of his shed tears was visible as he leaned in to kiss Mickey.

Even after the exhausting climb and reaching intense orgasm, they still kissed with nothing but passion. Ian's eyes ached and he felt like he couldn't breathe again as they parted. Mickey tiredly dropped his head back down on his pillow and Ian couldn't resist leaning down to kiss him on the cheek a few times. He felt Mickey grin and smiled brightly, as well, pressing one last kiss on his jaw, before he rolled onto his back.

Ian noticed sweat rolling down the back of his leg as he stretched both of his out to the end of the bed. His eyes were on the ceiling, but his vision was absent as his mind raced for a long moment of the conclusion his heart had come to. It wasn't really surprising, and yet still somehow shocked him.

Once his heart had calmed and his breathing was steady he truly felt the tired ache of his body. He was ready to close his eyes and just let the peace he felt pull him to sleep. So, he turned back to Mickey and wrapped his arm around him again. Ian cuddled into him as close as he could get and buried his face into the back of Mickey's neck once more, where he took in another breath of the scent that only made the peaceful feelings inside him sing more soothingly to him.

“I like the way you smell,” whispered Ian, softly blurting the thought right out.

Mickey grunted in return, but stroked the back of Ian's hand a few times, as if to let him know he appreciated the statement but was too sleepy to vocalize it.

 

 

**

Mickey awoke on his stomach with his blankets perfectly tucked over his nude body. The soreness he felt from how they'd ended the night had his thoughts immediately going to Ian. He drew in a long breath and rolled onto his back, so he could look at him. But, he wasn't there. And as he stretched out he felt how cold the bed was beside him. This had him looking to his alarm clock for the time. It was almost noon.

He gradually rose and applied a pair of sweats from his dresser drawer. He stopped off to the bathroom for his first piss of the day before venturing out to the bright living rooms, which made him squint painfully. But, he could hear sounds coming from the kitchen now that kept his feet shuffling faster than most mornings.

Ian was in front of the stove, swaying back and forth and humming a song. He smiled tiredly at the sight and greeted, “Hey.”

Ian spun to look at him and beamed right away. “Morning! I'm making pancakes.”

“Mmm,” hummed Mickey with a nod of his head as he moved to his coffee machine. He'd just barely finished setting it up when Ian was suddenly at his side, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.

Mickey smiled openly, his ears heated up, and he glanced at Ian as the redhead retreated back to the stove in time to flip his pancakes. He didn't mind at all how at home Ian had made himself. In fact, it gave Mickey an extra fluffy feeling in his gut that Ian felt comfortable enough to explore his kitchen, and ultimately cook a meal.

Mickey took his fresh cup of coffee and sat at the table. He wasn't even halfway through his mug when Ian set a plate stacked high with pancakes in front of him.

“Don't think anyone's made me breakfast before,” noted Mickey as Ian rushed off to grab the syrup and tub of butter he already had sitting out.

“You mean your exes?” questioned Ian as he set everything else at the center of the table.

“I mean, _anyone_ ,” clarified Mickey as he grabbed the syrup, “Mandy, I guess.”

Ian sat with his own tower of pancakes and seemed to eye the dangerous amount of syrup Mickey was drizzling over his.

“Well, I like it. I'll make you breakfast anytime,” returned Ian, “I think I need to get you a waffle iron, so I can make waffles next time. You like waffles?”

Mickey snorted, “Yeah, waffles are good.” He paused all movements to eye Ian with suspicion for a moment, before asking, “How long you been awake, Gallagher? You're full of piss and vinegar today.”

Ian glanced at him with a hint of something dark in his gaze while he chewed an ambitious bite.

“Uhm,” he said around the food, before taking time to swallow it down. “A while. Couldn't get back to sleep.”

“Man, I slept like the dead,” returned Mickey with a soft laugh, “You feeling okay?”

Ian nodded, taking in another large bite. Mickey took that as an escape from the question; whatever it was Ian didn't want to talk about it. So, Mickey decided to focus on inhaling his pancakes, one half at a time.

“I feel a little stressed about going back,” admitted Ian unexpectedly. “To John, I mean.”

Mickey halted his chewing for a moment to frown at him.

“I mean, it's fine,” shrugged Ian, “I just had such a great weekend with you, so I'm dreading going home. I wish I could just stay here.”

Mickey painfully swallowed down his large bite and thus spoke with a bit of raspiness, “You can. If you really want, Ian, you can just stay here.”

Ian gave him a painful smile and poked at one of his pancakes. “No, I should go back.”

They both went quiet. Mickey finished his pancakes and his coffee without saying another word. The tension in the air was jagged as he made himself another cup of coffee and returned to the table to find Ian had pushed his own empty plate away.

Mickey looked him over curiously, wondering how he could fix the atmosphere. They couldn't end their weekend on a gloomy note like this. He stood to retrieve his pack of cigarettes from his coat. After lighting one of his own he tossed the small box towards Ian.

“So, New Year's Eve is Friday,” spoke Mickey, “Damon invited me to a party they're havin'.”

Ian visibly perked up at that, even sitting taller. He tucked a cigarette between his lips, looking Mickey over, and lit it before replying, “Well, let me know if you want some company.”

Mickey smiled amusingly at him, slouching in his chair more, and raising a brow a bit.

“Yeah, that was an invitation, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled brightly, glancing bashfully down at the table. “So, you'll kiss me at midnight in front of everybody?”

“Can't fuck with tradition, right?” smirked Mickey.

Ian's smile grew to a grin and he let out an adorably happy laugh. Mickey bit his lip and released a silent breath of relief through his nose. There was something so pleasurable about making Ian Gallagher so happy.

“Oh, by the way, you know how Liam's still on winter break? He's staying with Lip for a few more days, so I can actually leave early tomorrow and we can hang out a bit before work.”

“How you gonna explain that to John?”

“He always leaves early,” shrugged Ian, “So I'll just leave right after him and he'll never know.”

Mickey couldn't help the joy he felt at that reassurance. He could actually start his workday with an extra dose of Ian, without any repercussions.

It was already looking like they were going to have another great week together and it wasn't even Monday yet. Maybe they were just blinded by their current state of bliss, but everything really was perfect now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys soooooo much for being so patient! <3 I hope this was somewhat satisfying after the long ass wait haha   
> The weekend is now over, so get ready to read about John's ugly personality again.


	18. I'm Drawn to a Blackened Sky as I Turn Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are in the mood for angst.

Five o'clock rolled around so fast Ian could hardly believe the clock on his phone. He had to go; had to get home before John's plane landed.

They had spent the last of their time together leisurely. They chatted, fooled around, cuddled, ate lunch, fooled around more, and chatted some more. The ease of their last bit of time spent together made it feel that much more strange as Ian gathered his things and self to leave.

He felt anxious as he stood at Mickey's door with his duffel bag in hand. Mickey gave him an amused look as he stepped up close to him.

“You got that look on your face, Gallagher. Like a pissed off, wounded, cat.”

Ian's lips lifted to a smile as he looked down to the straps of his bag. He shrugged quietly and tilted his head enough to look at Mickey from the top of his head. Mickey stared at him in return, subtly shifting back in forth where he stood, like he was also full of uncomfortable energy.

Mickey pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and nodded a few times before speaking, “It's just a few work days, right? Then you'll be back here, again.”

Ian pulled in a long breath of dread.

“Yeah, you're right,” agreed Ian, “Still sucks.”

Mickey snorted in amusement and nodded again.

“Thanks for letting me stay all weekend,” spoke Ian as he found himself drifting closer to Mickey, whose smile turned a touch warmer, his eyes sparkling at him in return.

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“Can't wait to do it again,” stated Ian, somewhat aware of the way he was just stalling. But, Mickey was also moving in closer, and their eyes were endlessly speaking to one another in a way that couldn't be broken. They both smiled openly as they seemed to simultaneously lean in with silent pleas for a kiss. Ian's lips tingled with anticipation and his eyes drifted closed.

“Get that divorce and we can do it all the time,” whispered Mickey, causing Ian to let out a soft laugh against his mouth.

“You're gonna get sick of me,” teased Ian.

“Won't know until we know, right?” challenged Mickey softly, while his hand brushed along the side of Ian's head. Ian practically purred as he tilted his head into that hand. A sound rose up his throat, though going no further than that, as Mickey's fingers slipped into his hair and wrapped around the back of his head. Slowly, he pulled Ian down the rest of the way into a kiss.

Ian never knew before that there were categories for kisses; but this was unmistakably a _parting kiss_. It built slowly with need and radiated disappointment and denial from both of them. It felt like it would never end as they both seemed to press for more and more, unwilling to let go of the moment, knowing what would come next.

Ian still felt this kiss during his drive home and when he entered the empty, cold, condo. Even while he showered and unpacked his bag—even as he found himself sitting on the couch in the living room in a daze, staring at the wall and replaying the weekend in his mind. There was part of his brain that seemed to suggest it was too good to be true, as if he had imagined the entire weekend.

His daze was inevitably broken by the sound of the front door opening.

“Honey, I'm home,” sang John front the front hall.

A chill went up Ian's spine and suddenly his heart raced. Fuck, how was he supposed to face John and act normal? He felt like a stranger in a strange land, or like he'd been reset.

Ian gave himself a quick slap to the face to try to snap out of it and stood to greet John on the other side of the kitchen. The blonde man grinned at him as he dropped his suitcase and moved in close with familiarity. Ian managed a bright smile that instantly dropped away when John leaned in for a kiss.

Ian's stomach bubbled with discomfort as he kissed him in return. Just three days away from John and now he genuinely felt sick at the taste of his lips. They were so unbelievably different from Mickey's.

“Everything alright?” whispered John.

“Yeah, why?”

“Seem a little tense,” noted John as his hands ran up Ian's arms.

Ian summoned another smile and shrugged, “Just got a bit of a headache, is all.”

“Oh, yeah? Someone a little hungover maybe?” teased John as he leaned back in and rubbed his nose against Ian's playfully.

“Maybe,” returned Ian through a breathy laugh just before John kissed him once more. Ian pulled away again and made his own observation, “You're feeling pretty touchy, huh?”

“I missed you,” returned John, which genuinely surprised Ian, and it must've showed on his face considering the smirk that sprouted up on John's face. “I _really_ missed your body, though.”

Ian nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Not that you don't also have a winning personality,” grinned John, his one hand snaking around to Ian's back. He tugged Ian's waist closer to his.

“Gee, thanks,” returned Ian sarcastically, “How about we sit down and you can tell me all about your trip?”

John beamed, as if he actually believed Ian wanted to hear the details. They made their way to the living room soon after with two glasses of wine. John dropped onto the couch with a heavy groan and stretched his legs out while he murmured about how tired he was.

“I can give you a foot massage if you want,” offered Ian, in hopes that maybe John would crash out early if he relaxed enough.

John sent him a smile, “I just might take you up on that.”

Ian forced a smile before hiding in his wine glass.

John went on to tell Ian about every over the top and impersonal thing his family did together to celebrate the holiday. He whined about his brother endlessly, talked about the updates his father wanted to make to the company, what gossip his sister had about cousins that Ian had never met, and on and on. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time John was running out of topics. Ian felt exhausted from putting in so much effort to sound interested and find ways to engage in the conversation.

“Elle's about to pop out another kid,” said John, referring to his sister, as he stood to retrieve the bottle of wine for another glass. “Mom's over the moon, of course. As if she doesn't already have three grandchildren.”

Ian slouched a bit more on the couch and inhaled the last of his wine, before watching John return with the bottle. He poured wine into both glasses, without asking Ian if he wanted more, and sat in a different position; so he could lay back on the cushion against the arm of the couch and stretch his feet out to Ian's lap.

“She kept asking me when I was going to be a dad,” added John as he plucked his glass from the table and wiggled his toes.

“Really? Even though you're married to me?” questioned Ian while he reluctantly peeled away John's black socks.

“Mhm,” hummed John into his drink, “She was telling me all about the adoption agency the Ashbury's used. Gave me a card and everything.”

Ian raised his brows in surprise as he wrapped his hands around John's left foot. Even if John wasn't married to Ian-the-gold-digging-street-rat, he couldn't imagine him as a father. As far as he'd seen, he had zero interest in kids, and virtually no parental instincts.

“Are you considering it?” asked Ian as he kept his attention on John's foot, running his thumbs up his sole in circular motions.

“Maybe next year,” answered John, “It's going to be such a headache and I want to enjoy myself a little more. Finding a live-in nanny I can trust is going to be a nightmare. And with your brother taking up the third bedroom it's going to be tricky.”

Ian sent him a worried look. There was so much to unpack of what he'd just said. Was he already planning on kicking them out next year? Or just Liam? That was when Ian planned to leave, anyways, so it'd work out.

“Unless I get you to be a stay-at-home-mom,” teased John lowly while his right foot suddenly stroked along the side of Ian's thigh.

Ian sent him an amused smile, which only made John smile wider.

“I'll have my degree by then, so I'll probably be knee deep in work.”

“Or you could just be happy with the degree and not work?”

Ian paused his movements and looked to John with lowered brows. “I want to work.”

“But, you don't have to. You've got so much experience with your siblings, you'd be the perfect person to raise my kid. You'll still be getting your allowance, so you could consider that your job, right? I could even give you a raise. It'll pay a hell of a lot better than social work.”

John chuckled to himself while Ian actually did roll his eyes. Ian focused on rubbing his heel as he returned, “I'm not trying to make bank. I want to do something meaningful with my life.”

“Ah, yes, of course. _The most honorable Ian Gallagher_ , who sucked cock for money and nearly spent years in a military prison.”

As John again laughed at his own words Ian sent him a look of disbelief.

“Jesus,” he spoke, “Thanks a lot. Don't know what the fuck my past has to do with helping people in my future.”

“Oh, come on. I'm just teasing,” defended John with a smile, as if he truly still found it amusing, even after seeing how it hurt Ian. “It's funny, though, right? Like, you helping out kids and being a saint, knowing all the shit you've done.”

“That's all the more reason for me to help, so they don't end up going through the same stuff.”

“Geez, loosen up, Ian. I'm just horsing around,” said John in an impatient tone.

Ian locked his jaw and returned to keeping his focus on John's foot, working his way up to his calf. It was quiet for a long moment.

“Did you have a bad weekend?” asked John unexpectedly.

“Why do you ask that?” murmured Ian.

“The mood you're in. I thought you'd be a little happier to see me.”

“I am, I've just got a headache, like I said,” lied Ian. “I actually had an amazing weekend.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Ian's heart plummeted. He hadn't anticipated that. His brain stuttered and a long silent moment unfolded with Ian uncontrollably rubbing his fingers over John's skin with more anxious movements, more pressure.

Finally, he managed to smile at John, who looked confused now.

“Nothing exciting like your family,” dismissed Ian, in what he hoped was a casual voice, “It was just really great getting to spend so much time with my family. Carl was even there for the whole weekend. He signed up with the National Guard. I'm so proud of him. And Debbie's new baby is super adorable. Oh, she might be getting a promotion, which she's excited about. And the renovations on the house they got are done—it looks great. And they all loved their presents, by the way. Debbie couldn't stop going on and on about the Ninja we got her. Oh, yeah, and we got to see our old neighbors. It's been so long, so that was nice. And—”

“I cannot believe this is what qualifies as _amazing_ to you,” interrupted John, who looked more and more confused the further Ian rambled.

Ian managed to get out a believable laugh and shrugged. “I'm a simple guy. I just like being with my family.”

“All the more reason for you to raise my kid.”

Ian snorted and shook his head, “This is going to be a thing now, huh? You're gonna be bugging me about it all the time.”

“Mhm,” returned John with a steady smile, “I know how to wear you down. Or I just have to find the right incentive.”

John's right foot suddenly began to stroke Ian's thigh again, but this time it moved along the top of it, with his toes curling to the inside. Ian looked to him from the corner of his eye as that foot moved higher and higher.

“Why don't you come closer?” suggested John lowly.

Ian sent him a stubborn smile, trying to figure how to get out of the obvious situation he faced. But, as he sat there trying to figure out what to do, and if he just needed to buck up and ignore his thoughts that screamed at him to not do it, John sat up. He set his wine glass down and set his gaze on him with intent. Ian swallowed with difficulty as John grabbed a handful of the front of his shirt, pulling him as he laid back down.

His mind was sounding a blaring alarm that screamed at him over and over how wrong this was. This wasn't the reality he was supposed to be living, this was a sick joke.

Ian settled over John and he wrapped his legs around Ian's thighs. They had been in this very position so many times before, and yet it felt foreign to Ian. It felt awkward as he forced his arm between John and the couch to hold himself up. He felt frightened, like he didn't know what to even do with John, anymore.

John looked very comfortable, however, as he reached a hand up to run his fingers through Ian's hair. Ian's mind flashed Mickey's face and his gut churned.

“Did you miss me?” whispered John as his fingertips danced down the back of Ian's neck.

“Yeah.” The word took a moment to get out as it had to navigate the dense fog in his throat. He couldn't manage a smile, though, or anything flirtatious. But, that one word seemed to be enough as the corners of John's lips rose higher.

“Oh, yeah?” he responded in a low tone, rolling his body up into Ian's. “How about you show me how much you missed me, hm?”

Ian let out an awkward laugh and spoke, “I told you, I've got a headache.”

“Yeah and you know what's good for headaches?” challenged John, leaning up to capture Ian's lips. Ian managed to return the kiss for only a moment, before pulling away.

“I'm not going to be very good if I'm in pain,” argued Ian with a smile.

John sighed irritably through his nose and shook his head. He pulled Ian back down to his mouth and murmured against it in an intimate way, “Come on, I'm sure you could use some extra cash after how much I can _assume_ you spent on gifts for your family.”

*

Ian couldn't sleep. He couldn't shut his brain off. It was working overtime with it's production of negativity. As he turned his head to look at John's nude form in the dark he was caked in shame. It had felt like so much changed between him and Mickey over the weekend, like they had really solidified their relationship.

So, now he felt as if he hadn't just done his job, but he'd done something horrible to Mickey. Even if Mickey knew the arrangement, it still felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong, now. He had reached some sort of point of no return.

Ian sighed and climbed out of bed, figuring he'd have an easier time sleeping on the couch, far away from the man disrupting his new found joy.

He grabbed his pillow and threw on a pair of sweats. He hunted down his phone on the way to the living room and dropped onto the couch in the same old spot as he always slept.

It was nearly three in the morning; Mickey would certainly be asleep by now. Still, Ian opened a new thread and began to type out a message to send. He didn't get very far, though, as his stomach ached and burned with discomfort.

A heavy weight fell over Ian. He deleted the thread and dropped his phone onto the coffee table.

He stared at the ceiling through the darkness of the living room and felt himself gradually sinking into a familiar dark, wet, dirt. He was so unhappy, but this was his life. He couldn't do anything about it. He had to accept it and move on, that was all he could do.

But, there was a stillness.

An unnerving, screaming, stillness that teased the back of his mind with warning. He tapped his fingers against his tummy, knowing sleep was far off. How could he sleep when he knew a storm was approaching?

Maybe it was a weaker type of panic that suggested it, but he thought maybe he could wear himself out then he could sleep and wake up normal again.

And so he went to their gym room on the other side of the condo and ran on the treadmill. He ran and ran and ran, increasing the speed, pushing himself further and further, harder and harder. When he was ready to collapse, his lungs screaming painfully, he found that itchy energy deep within still remained.

So, he got in the shower, thinking maybe he could relax his body enough to ease into sleep. But, as he eventually returned to the couch he found his mind still too awake.

“Fuck.”

 

 

*

Ian awoke late, apparently having dismissed his alarms over and over again, until he had only a half hour to get ready for work. He contemplated just not going anywhere, finding it hard to summon a reason for why it even mattered.

But, when he heard John's voice from the kitchen his eyes shot open.

“Hey, you ever gonna get up?”

Ian's muscles groaned as he sat up. His shoulder ached fiercely, so he tried stretching it as he looked over to John, who was busy typing away on his phone.

“Maybe it is better when the brat's here, to get your ass up,” said John, without pulling his eyes from his phone screen.

Ian's brows furrowed and he stood to make his way to the bathroom to take his pills. It took extra effort to swallow them down, as if he was totally dried out internally.

When he returned to the kitchen he poured himself a glass of juice and decided to skip breakfast, as he didn't have the strength to even make toast. As he sipped his orange juice his brain seemed to catch up with more of the things wrong with his current picture.

“Why are you still here?” rasped Ian.

John sent him an annoyed look, finally putting his phone down. “Something wrong with me being here?”

“No, just wondering why.”

“Didn't feel like going in early,” shrugged John. “If you get ready I'll drive you.”

Ian frowned and gulped down the last of his juice, nodding his head as he rinsed it in the sink. As he made his way to the bedroom to get dressed for the day it dawned on him that he'd told Mickey he'd not only just give him a ride, but be there earlier than usually. His heart ached and his thoughts spiraled with self-deprecation as he realized he hadn't even been awake early enough to let him know not to wait for him.

**

Mickey leaned back in his office chair and wrapped his hand over his computer mouse, testing out his new pad with the built-in wrist rest. It felt good. He was actually a little excited to see the difference by the end of the day. Amy and Damon both had insisted on reviews, so they could maybe invest in their own wrist assistance.

His eyes darted to the time in the bottom corner of his screen. He frowned and reached for his coffee. He was worried about Ian, but given that John still wasn't in his office he couldn't reach out to him. And he wasn't surprised he hadn't gotten a text, as he imagined John must've been stealing all of his time, or something.

Mickey had even lingered in the lobby for as long as he possibly could in hopes of at least catching a glimpse of Ian, but it was to no avail. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, deciding to get started on work.

The elevator dinged quietly then and he looked back in time to see John stepping off with a bright smile. He was whistling like an asshole as he walked across the room towards his office. Mickey scowled, wondering what had him in such a chipper mood.

“Good morning, everyone,” sang John loudly as he turned to face the workers just outside of his office doors. “I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday as much as I did.”

No one said a word. Which only made it that much more awkward as his eyes scanned the room with the same bright smile lingering below his gaze. He then nodded his head and turned to enter his office.

Mickey rolled his eyes and reached for his phone, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts.

**Mickey (9:15 a.m.):** _Hey you ok?_

Ian didn't reply right away, which concerned him even more. He wondered why Ian hadn't texted him the moment he'd gotten away from John. It was so difficult to focus on work as his thoughts kept spiraling with worry. Something must've happened, he thought endlessly. He was practically returned to the previous evening when he had laid in bed, unable to sleep until nearly three-thirty in the morning. He had expected some kind of text from Ian, but nothing had come in, which had made his imagination work overtime with every scenario that made his stomach churn.

He chastised himself all morning for having any expectations. Ian didn't owe him updates, he didn't promise him to text him every night, they'd never agreed to any absolute rules. And yet, he was so used to it that they did feel like expectations.

**Ian (9:45 a.m.):** _I'm so so sorry, Mick. I woke up really late and John was still there for some fucking reason and wanted to drive me to work and the other secretary called in sick so now I have to fucking do every god damn thing here_

Mickey frowned as he read the text, sensing nothing but anger and sadness from the words. Ian having a rough time in the last twenty hours was certainly confirmed, now.

**Ian (9:46 a.m.):** _I really am sorry I didn't even text you this morning. I feel like such an asshole but I couldn't wake up this morning. I hope you weren't waiting around for me or anything :(_

**Mickey:** _Its cool I figured something was going on with John. Sorry you're having such a shitty morning already_

**Ian:** _You're not mad at me?_

**Mickey:** _Why the fuck would I be mad at you? Didn't do that shit on purpose_

**Ian:** _Still. I said I was gonna be there early_

**Mickey:** _You can't help that shit. Stop worrying about me I'm good._

**Ian:** _kk ty Mickey_

Mickey furrowed his brow, wondering why Ian would feel like he needed to thank him for not being upset. He must've been feeling worse than Mickey thought.

**Mickey:** _You got a lot going on so just focus on work and text me on your lunch break k?_

**Ian:** _kk_

Mickey frowned as he set his phone down. He didn't feel any better, any less worried. In fact, now he only felt sympathetic and more concerned. So much so that he scooped his phone back up and sent off an honest text.

**Mickey:** _Miss ya btw. Was weird sleeping without you._

**Ian:** _Ikr after only two nights my body expects you to be there lol I miss you too Mick :)_

Mickey smiled as he typed his reply.

**Mickey:** _You better miss me [middle finger emoji]_

**Ian:** _Haha you're so sappy today [winky-tongue-face emoji]_

Mickey snorted in amusement.

**Mickey:** _Fuck off [heart emoji]_

**Ian:** _[crying-laughing-face emoji]_

Mickey returned his focus to his work, now smiling, and hoping that Ian maybe felt at least a tiny bit better, as well.

**

Ian took maybe the longest shower he had in months. Going as far as to just sit under the spray of hot water and bow his head. He was so exhausted, physically and mentally. The day had been long. Driving home with John had been long. Eating dinner with John had been long. Having sex with John had been long—he'd barely laid in bed for five minutes after before hurrying off to the shower for a quiet moment of peace, finally.

The only moments of the day that he was alright were the few scattered minutes he'd gotten to text Mickey. But, when those moments ended, he swore he felt even more tired; more discouraged by his surroundings and tasks.

Ian reached back to turn the water to an even hotter temperature and tilted his head, so that the water was hitting directly on his sore shoulder. He took a deep breath of steam and felt the sudden urge to cry. Every swirling feeling inside of him was overwhelming and unbalanced, but still out of reach.

 _Mickey_ , his mind screamed. He needed to hear his voice. He needed a break from these feelings.

Ian exited the shower a few minutes later and got dressed, every movement was sluggish and forced. He grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter and briefly looked into the master bedroom to confirm John was asleep. Ian then collected his most practical coat from the foyer closet and traveled out to the balcony. He threw his hood up over his wet hair that practically whined against the cold Chicago air.

Ian tapped Mickey's contact and started a call, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he lit a cigarette and sat in his favorite seat at the end of the balcony.

The phone rang over and over in his ear; it sounded endless. Ian wondered if maybe Mickey was on the phone with someone else, but then the automated voicemail message played. He contemplated hanging up, but felt frozen under the disappointment that swarmed him. Even when the phone beeped loudly in his ear it took a moment for him to catch up.

“Uhh...” said Ian, his voice weak. He quickly cleared his throat and continued, “Hey, I had a bit of time and he's asleep, so I thought I'd just call you instead of texting. I'll probably be out on the balcony for a little while, if you wanna give me a call back? I'll text you when the coast isn't clear anymore.”

He felt a thousand more words on his tongue, but at the same time stuck, so after a long pause he ended the call. He set his phone down on the small table beside his chair and sat back, bundling himself more and taking a hit from his cigarette. He shut his eyes and focused on the buzzing sounds of the city. Sometimes he swore it was too quiet inside the condo. He missed the sounds of people living their lives chaotically around him. It was soothing in a distracting way.

Ian was halfway through his cigarette and feeling more empty by the moment when his phone started vibrating repetitively. He didn't even look at who was calling, just quickly swiped his thumb to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” returned Mickey.

Ian practically melted into the metal chair below him as he released a breath of relief.

“It's fuckin' cold out tonight, aren't ya freezin' on that balcony?”

“Nah, it's not so bad.”

“Mhm, you sayin' that because it's true, or because you wanna talk to me?”

Ian smiled at Mickey seeing right through him even over the phone.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, maybe I don't want you to freeze to death,” said Mickey with a laugh, “Gotta problem with that?”

“Awe, you trying to protect me from myself, Mick?”

“I'll do what I gotta do. You've been warned,” joked Mickey.

Ian laughed and after a moment said, “Really, I'm fine. What're you up to tonight?”

“Pretty exciting stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Ate a quick dinner then sent out some work e-mails, and I just got out of the shower, so now I'm folding laundry.”

Ian grinned the whole way through.

“Whoa, sounds like a fucking blast,” chuckled Ian.

Mickey laughed, “My life is a thriller.”

Ian let out one more laugh as he took a hit from his cigarette. “Still wish I was there, though, helping you fold laundry.”

“Me too,” replied Mickey softly, before turning it back to humor with, “Got a lot of shit to fold.”

Ian barked out a laugh and questioned, “Is that the only reason you wish I was there?”

“Nah, you'd look good doing it, too,” answered Mickey slyly, and Ian swore he could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I've never folded laundry in the nude before.”

Mickey spat out a laugh and said, “Nude? Shit, I didn't even consider that. You should get the fuck over here and do that shit _now_.”

Ian grinned, laughing openly, and felt his heart tremble happily as he listened to Mickey laughing along with him.

“Wish I could,” concluded Ian.

“Me too.”

Ian nodded his head a few times and stole another drag from his cigarette, before putting it out.

“So, ya gonna tell me about your shitty day, or do I have to drag it outta ya?”

“I don't think you wanna hear about it.”

“Why?” asked Mickey, his tone was skeptical and concerned.

“A lot of John being a needy asshat.”

“What's fuckin' new, man?”

Ian snorted and replied, “Guess you're right.”

But, it felt new. It felt worse than it ever had before. As he thought on this, a pause grew between them on the phone call. Ian frowned, thinking that maybe his current mental state was not the right one to have while on a call with Mickey. Maybe he should've just texted.

He slouched even more in his chair and looked up to the cloudy, dark sky.

“So, what's the plan?” asked Mickey, throwing Ian for a loop.

Had he missed something?

“Plan? For what?”

“To get John out of town for another weekend,” answered Mickey, as if it was so obvious.

A smile cracked on Ian's face and a much needed warmness sparked in the cold mass that was dwelling in his heart.

“Yeah, I can't wait for the next chance, either,” returned Ian softly, “Thinkin' maybe we could nominate him for an award or something. Oh, or maybe buy him tickets for a cruise?”

“Wouldn't he take you along?” questioned Mickey through a laugh.

“I've got my in-room classes starting next week, so I have to stay here for the next few months.”

“You excited about those?” asked Mickey, redirecting the conversation.

“Definitely. I mean, online I've mostly learned the paperwork and system, but these classes will be way more in depth with the human side of things, and that's the whole reason why I'm doing this. And there are options offered with my school, so I was thinking about pushing myself a little more with online classes through the spring. I could do both the in-person courses and online ones at the same time, so theoretically I could finish up early. If I did that, I could start at an entry level position by fall.”

“Just don't burn yourself out.”

“It'd be worth it, right? You did that and now look at where you are.”

“Yeah, well, the difference is that I had no one relying on me or expecting anything from me. So, I was free to run myself into the ground and all that shit. If you burn yourself out, you're gonna have a lot of people worried about you.”

“Like you?”

Mickey let out a sound. “Obviously, asshole.”

Ian chuckled. “Well, if I can get a job in the fall, maybe I'll be free to be comforted by you all the time?”

“That right? So leavin' him at the year mark isn't the goal anymore?”

“We'll see,” Ian glanced at his pack of cigarettes a couple times before reaching over to grab another one to smoke. He drew in a deep hit before continuing, “From the way he was talking all day, he's either kicking us out next year or going to try to chain me for years.”

“How the fuck would he do that?”

“He wants a kid.”

A pause set in; one that was made of the horrors of reality. Ian pressed on, to end it.

“He's trying to rope me in to being a Mr. Mom or some shit.”

Mickey let out a short laugh and replied, “As much as I love Michael Keaton, that shit would be disastrous.”

“Right? He said he just has to find the right incentive. I want to get out before he does.”

“Just don't think about that, man. You've got the same goal you've always had. Finish your schooling and get the fuck out.”

“Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't stress myself about that bullshit.”

“Nope. Jesus, imagining him as a dad is fucked up.”

Ian exhaled a cloud of smoke through a smile and nodded his head.

“That's why he wants me to stay. Even he knows he'd suck at it.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, anyhow, fuck that guy. We still on for Friday?”

Ian's heart jumped excitedly at the reminder of his reward after the work week.

“Hell yeah,” grinned Ian, wagging his leg back and forth happily. “And I'm picking Liam up tomorrow, but he's still off of school for the rest of the week. I should still be able to pick you up early every morning.”

Getting back to that routine at least would lessen the load on Ian's shoulders. He was so sure of it. A part of him wanted to vent to Mickey about how deep he had sunk in the last twenty-four hours, but the majority of him didn't want to burden Mickey with concern. He was just having a weak moment, that's all. He was just adjusting back to his reality after an amazing weekend.

Just talking to Mickey on the phone had made him feel stronger.

However, after they ended their call—once Ian had reached the point of actually shivering—he had gone back inside to find his life draining and draining and draining.

While settling on the couch to sleep he tried to recapture the relief he had felt on the balcony by imagining he was back in Mickey's apartment. It was frighteningly difficult.

Ian curled up on his side, trying desperately to remember what it felt like in Mickey's bed, but he was just empty. He couldn't tap into those memories, couldn't feel it. The more he tried to reach for that soothing memory, the worse he felt.

*

Even Wednesday proved to be just as much of a frustrating failure as the previous days. It seemed reclaiming his routine was entirely out of reach, now, as he _again_ slept through his alarms on the couch for the third morning in a row.

“Ian? Ian, it's seven, you gotta get up.”

Ian rolled away, pulling the blanket he used up over his head to hide. He felt hands on him and then they began to shake his body back and forth. He groaned and begged them to stop.

“Ian, you have to get up. You have work.”

Ian didn't move, didn't make a sound, only hoped that his attacker would leave. And they did.

He stayed hidden and curled into his misery, under the blanket, for what felt like an eternity before he heard feet shuffling over to him again. There was a distinct sound of something being set on the coffee table and then a hand on his back again.

“Ian? Time to get up,” spoke Liam firmly. “I made you coffee.”

Even coffee didn't sound appealing, now. Only staying under his blanket shield.

“Ian, you have to get up. It's getting late, you have to get ready for work.”

Ian frowned, his bones aching with dread. There was no point to work. No point to trying.

“John left for work, already,” offered Liam quietly, “It's just me and you.”

It dawned on Ian's awakening mind that it was Wednesday morning and he had slept through his alarms, again. Which meant he wouldn't be picking Mickey up early to get in extra time, _again_. He kept fucking up. What was wrong with his body that he couldn't do the simplest thing, like waking up to his alarms, for even a good morning that would involve Mickey—the only thing he currently desired.

He sat up, drenched in defeat, and looked to his little brother. His gaze pivoted to the mug of steaming coffee on the small table and he turned, planting his feet on the floor, reaching for that lifeline of caffeine. Liam sat beside him on the couch, cautiously.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Ian glanced worriedly at Liam, who had a look of suspicion on his face.

“Are you sick?”

Ian shook his head, but this only seemed to make Liam more worried. His little brother frowned and looked down to the carpet between the couch and the coffee table.

“Are you seeing your therapist soon?” asked Liam.

Jesus, having to sit and talk to someone for an hour sounded especially draining to Ian right now. But, that didn't matter. He knew what was going through Liam's head now. The same fear that plagued all of his siblings in regard to Ian, always.

“I just didn't sleep well,” returned Ian, reaching a hand out to rub Liam's back. “I appreciate the concern, though, buddy.”

Liam glanced at him and shook his head, “You should still talk to her. Maybe she can help with your sleeping problems.”

“It was just last night, Liam,” lied Ian. “My shoulders have been bothering me, so I couldn't get comfortable.”

“Should've slept in the bed then,” murmured Liam.

“Yeah, I'll try that tonight,” said Ian casually, “Anyhow, thanks for the coffee.”

Liam nodded, but said nothing. Ian frowned into the mug as he took another gulp of caffeine.

“I should take my pills. You gonna be cool here by yourself all day?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“I know, I know,” sighed Liam.

Ian smiled at him and inhaled more of his coffee before standing to head to the bathroom.

 

*

When Ian stepped into the lobby of Woods Tech. he immediately spotted Mickey. As if the rest of the lobby, and crowds of people, were blurred just for him—just so he could find Mickey faster.

He was standing a few feet away from the back of the line for the coffee cart, staring down at his phone.

Ian found his feet extra heavy as he lifted them one at a time to move towards Mickey. His throat was swollen and his eyes burned. He could've smacked himself for feeling so unbelievably emotional. When had he become so weak?

He had nearly reached him when Mickey finally glanced up, then did a double take. He smiled right away, unrestrained and welcoming. Ian's emotions swelled even more. He wanted to hug him, _so badly_. He wanted to bury his face in Mickey's warm shoulder and hold on until he calmed down. But, he couldn't. He couldn't even touch him.

Ian's feet felt even heavier. And though he smiled in return, obviously it was not his usual smile—obviously something in his expression told a tale, which had Mickey's brow furrowing and his smile dimming a bit.

“Hey,” greeted Mickey cautiously, once Ian was close enough.

“Hi,” exhaled Ian shakily.

“You alright?” murmured Mickey, with a curious observation of Ian's body.

“Yeah,” returned Ian tightly. He swallowed roughly, painfully, before continuing, “Just happy I finally get to see you.”

Mickey nodded, but didn't look convinced. He motioned for them to get in line and Ian quickly complied. _Just be normal_ , he begged himself.

“Sorry I didn't wake up early enough, again,” mumbled Ian shamefully.

Mickey shrugged casually, “S'cool. Seems like you've had a rough couple of days, so.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ian quietly, before leaning in a little closer, “But, that just makes me want to be around you more. I'm so god damn annoyed that I keep sleeping through my alarms.”

Mickey's eyes zipped around his face, a frown sprouted up below them, and he firmly spoke, “Don't be so hard on yourself. We've got plenty of time to hang out in the future, right?”

 _But, that was the future_ , Ian wanted to whine. He needed relief now. He couldn't possibly feel hopeful about something that felt like it'd never come.

He nodded his head and looked forward to the three people ahead of them, fighting back all the negative words caught in his throat. That's when he felt Mickey's hand brush against his own. Ian quickly looked to him, but Mickey was looking somewhere else in the lobby, as if nothing had happened. And he continued to play it cool even when his pinky softly slid across the back of Ian's hand.

Life fluttered within Ian and he fought a grin down to a pleased smile as they progressed further in the line.

They didn't say much else to each other as the line moved quickly, but they certainly glanced at each other a lot. Ian needed this affirmation, this proof, that Mickey was physically real. That he was the end goal that was very real, and very much so worth it.

As they grabbed their drinks and moved off to the side Ian glanced at the clock. They had no time left, which had him frowning as he turned to face Mickey, again.

Mickey slowly took his first sip from his coffee, and all the while his gaze subtly moved down the length of Ian. The flirtation was so unexpected that it had Ian's heart racing faster than usual. His face was pleasantly flushed and lifted by the time Mickey's eyes returned to his.

There was a dangerous pause, in which they stared at each other in the middle of the lobby like they were the only ones there.

“Text me, Gallagher,” said Mickey with a wink, before he walked away.

 

*

Thursday morning started the same as Wednesday, with Liam waking Ian on the couch. Physically, he felt even worse than any morning yet, but he was at least a little pleased to find he was up with enough time to pick Mickey up. He took his pills and skipped breakfast to quickly get dressed; so quickly that he forgot to put on a tie.

He rushed out of the condo with a quick kiss to the top of Liam's head and called Mickey from his car, admittedly _speeding_ out of the garage towards the spiraling exit.

“Hello?” Mickey's voice came through the speakers of his car.

“Hey! You didn't leave yet, did you?”

“Nope. Not even dressed yet,” chuckled Mickey.

Ian glanced at the time and realized he actually had _plenty_ of time, still. He didn't know why he felt so panicked. Maybe because he had slept in late every single morning up until this point, so he had expected it to be worse than it was.

“Awesome,” exhaled Ian, “I'm gonna stop and get coffee then I'll come get ya.”

“If you got a bear claw, I wouldn't complain.”

Ian let out a laugh, “Making requests now? Look at how far you've come.”

“Shut up,” laughed Mickey.

Ian laughed happily as he pulled out of the garage and onto the street, easing into traffic with extra caution, as he still didn't feel awake.

“I'll see you soon, Mick.”

“Alright, see ya.”

The call ended and Ian took a deep breath. Maybe things would get better today, he thought. Maybe he was finally catching a break. Never mind his pounding headache, or the constant throb in his right shoulder. None of that matter, so long as he could get back to his routine with Mickey. So long as he could feel normal for just one day.

Watching Mickey walk out of his apartment complex with a smile already on his face was a good start. Ian forgot just how good it felt.

Mickey dropped into the passenger seat with his gaze fixed on Ian, his smile still holding, and Ian felt himself relax more into the back of his seat. He smiled in return and reached a hand out to Mickey, who happily stretched over the console to reach him. After a deep kiss Ian found himself chasing Mickey for more. It felt so god damn good. He locked his hand around the back of Mickey's neck and pressed deeper, sucked harder, with every ounce of desperation he felt. He fought his seat belt to physically meet Mickey better and released a deep groan when Mickey parted his lips and returned the enthusiasm in his mirroring kiss.

Mickey's lips fell away a moment later and he laughed softly against Ian.

“Don't get _too_ worked up,” teased Mickey.

Ian laughed in return, but truly he didn't feel aroused. There were too many emotions clouding his view. He just wanted more of this happy place—more relief. And thankfully as he leaned in to kiss Mickey more, Mickey seemed to happily comply. He felt Mickey's teeth as the man couldn't stop smiling, and chased the joy of being Mickey's happy place, too.

“Really fuckin' missed you,” whispered Ian between kisses, his hand slipping down from Mickey's neck to dance across his tie and down inside of Mickey's jacket to his warm side.

“Clearly,” returned Mickey, playfully butting his head against Ian's.

He kissed Ian once more, before pulling away and settling in the passenger seat. Ian finally reopened his eyes and felt out of place, as if he had expected them to be in Mickey's apartment, or anywhere that wasn't so damn bright.

Mickey had his brows raised, a smirk on his face, as he watched Ian sit back against his own seat. Ian smiled shyly and reached for his coffee. He sipped it a bit and watched closely as Mickey reached for his own. He was a little reluctant to begin the drive, but he pressed on. He didn't want Mickey to be late because of him.

Mickey dug into the bag of pastries and unceremoniously bit into his bear claw like he hadn't eaten in days. The satisfied moan that came from him had Ian grinning.

“Hits the fuckin' spot,” spoke Mickey around the pastry.

Ian basked in the warm feeling of just being in Mickey's presence, in private, to the point that he was distracted and silent as he drove for a while. He felt surprisingly relaxed, or maybe just tired. How he longed to go back to Mickey's apartment and return to sleep with the raven haired man at his side. That would be pure bliss.

“You're quiet,” noted Mickey, causing Ian to look at him. He was eyeing Ian suspiciously as he added, “Look pretty tired, too. Still having problems sleepin'?”

Ian pulled in a deep breath, which was almost a struggle, and shrugged, “Guess so, yeah.”

“What's up with that?” asked Mickey before taking another large bite of his breakfast.

A knowing finger tapped Ian's thoughts, but he stuffed it away.

“I dunno, I think I fucked up my back. Might go see the doctor.”

“You should,” agreed Mickey, muffled as he chewed his food, “Take advantage of that good ass health insurance while you can.”

Ian snorted.

As he listened to Mickey light up a cigarette, he felt a burning urge to vent his shame, his mistakes.

“I'm sorry, by the way.”

“For what?” asked Mickey, sounding genuinely confused.

“That I've been so out of it this week. We've barely even talked.”

“Fuck off with all that,” dismissed Mickey. “You couldn't help it. Life happens.”

“Yeah, just feel bad, I guess.”

“Well stop. Shit's not your fault.”

Ian smiled, but inside he disagreed. He felt like he had screwed up every little thing he'd done all week. And that was far more upsetting when it came to Mickey.

As he pulled up to the familiar curb four blocks from Woods Tech. he found himself slouching just a bit more in his seat. He looked to Mickey, who was halfway through his cigarette and realized he didn't even want one of his own. He just wanted to watch Mickey. His eyes followed every little movement; from the way his lips pursed around the filter of his smoke, to the way a tiny cloud of smoke got sucked right into his mouth as he inhaled deeply, to the way the tip of his tongue poked out to dance back and forth across his top lip.

“Starin' pretty hard there, Gallagher,” said Mickey lowly, luring Ian's gaze up to Mickey's bright, beautiful eyes.

Ian smiled gently and spoke honestly, “It feels good looking at you.”

He expected Mickey to grin, to flirt, to deflect with some witty comment, but instead a soft and contemplative expression took over his face. Mickey stared for a moment longer before he put his cigarette out and reached his hand over to cup the side of Ian's face. His thumb caressed the bottom of his cheek bone slowly.

“Maybe you should skip Damon's tomorrow,” suggested Mickey, causing Ian's heart to painfully crash into his gut. “Get caught up on sleep.”

Ian shook his head several times in quick, short movements. “I'm fine, Mickey. Just tired.”

“Exactly. Need to fuckin' take care of yourself,” said Mickey sternly.

Ian tried to think of what to say to assure Mickey that he was fine, or that he would do whatever it took to get some quality time with him, at a party or not. However, his mouth just hung open with nothing coming out.

Mickey clicked his tongue and his thumb slipped up to the bag under Ian's eye. Ian instinctively closed his eyes and found just how delicious it felt to do so. He pulled in a breath as Mickey's thumb moved out past the outer corner of his eye.

“You've got those in-room classes starting next week, right? Gonna be real pissed at yourself if you're not awake enough to learn.”

Ian opened his eyes to send Mickey a stubborn look, because he was absolutely right about that. Mickey's lips hitched up a bit and his thumb trailed down the side of his face. He then leaned in and kissed Ian. It was careful and full, warm and soothing. Ian felt it wash down his body slowly. It wasn't made of fire and need, like most of their kisses. This kiss was encouragement and concern.

Their foreheads met as their lips parted and Ian realized his jaw had a tremor of emotion passing through.

“I'll rest up on Saturday and Sunday, but don't take away the only thing in my whole week I'm looking forward to, okay?”

“Yeah,” rasped Mickey, before suddenly pulling away.

Ian watched him scan the area curiously, before he returned his gaze to him. He gave Ian a quick, pointed nod.

“If I find out you're overexerting yourself, though, there'll be hell to pay.”

Ian smiled, “You threatening me?”

“Fuckin' right I am. And I always make good on my threats.”

Ian let out a laugh and Mickey grinned in return.

“What're you going to do?”

“You don't wanna know,” assured Mickey with a lifted brow.

“Mm, I think I do,” smirked Ian, his heart fluttering excitedly as they went on to exchange flirtatious looks.

And then Mickey let out a laugh before quickly leaning back in to give Ian a more chaste smooch.

“Gotta get my ass to work,” he said.

Ian's pleased expression fell away instantly. Right, work. He had to do the same. At least the weekend was finally almost there.

He watched Mickey closely as he gathered himself, and his coffee, and exited the car with a promise to text Ian. He continued to watch him all the way until Mickey disappeared around the corner of the block. Heaving a deep sigh, Ian put the car in gear and headed to his own place of employment. Just a little bit further. He just had to push a little more and he would get his much needed break.

*

Ian felt okay. The day wasn't as bad as the previous ones and he managed to actually focus and get some studying done before dinner arrived. Liam sat with him at the kitchen island and they ate in a comfortable silence, while Liam watched videos on his phone. It was a perfect time to text Mickey.

Ian was smiling to himself as he sent out a message to Mickey, with an attached picture of his dinner and the bottle of water he was drinking.

**Ian:** _Taking care of myself, Mom! [tongue-face emoji]_

Mickey's reply came a few minutes later.

**Mickey:** _You think you're real cute huh?_

**Ian:** _Just don't want to be at the receiving end of Mickey Milkovich's threats :)_

**Mickey:** _You really fucking don't so keep eating_

**Ian:** _Ooh I'm shaking in my boots_

**Mickey:** _Sure you wanna test me tough guy?_

Ian grinned as he typed.

**Ian:** _Maybe. I'm kinda curious what you'd do :)_

**Mickey:** _Its more like what I WON'T do_

**Ian:** _Are you threatening to withhold sex from me? Seriously?_

**Mickey:** _:)_

**Ian:** _Come on that's no fun for either of us lol_

**Mickey:** _Idk it'd be fun for me [devil face emoji]_

Ian chuckled at that. But, as he scooped up another bite, trying to think of a playful reply, he heard the front door. Panic shot through him as he fired of a quick text with John's name and erased the thread. His appetite fumbled away and suddenly he was endlessly chewing the food in his mouth, trying like hell to swallow it down.

“Hello,” sang John as he entered the kitchen.

Ian smiled around his food and nodded in greeting as John headed straight for him. He kissed Ian on the head and slid his hand down his entire back.

“I'm going to finish eating in the living room,” murmured Liam, rising with his food in hand.

Ian frowned a bit as he watched him walk over to the couch, where he turned the tv on and settled. Ian then looked to John just in time to see him roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Did you get enough for me?” asked John with a nod towards the food.

“Got your favorite,” answered Ian, reaching out to grab an unopened container to pass to John.

John took up the stool vacated by Liam and let out a tired groan as he opened the container.

“Long day?”

“Just can't wait for this project to be over. Dad's actually keeping a close eye and I hate it when he does that.”

“Makes sense, though, since this is a huge profit.”

“Yeah, and I can handle it,” stated John defensively.

“I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that he would probably be breathing down anyone's neck over it.”

“He wouldn't if Aaron was running the company.”

Ian hid his amusement at the way John always whined about his older brother like a petulant child. Aaron was also an absolute tool, but Ian still liked him just for the fact that John had a serious inferiority complex when it came to him.

“Well, he turned down the position, so who even cares about him?” offered Ian in a light tone, with a casual nudge to John's side.

John only looked more annoyed and Ian tried not to savor it too loudly. He focused on sipping his water.

When Ian finished his meal he was almost tempted to sneakily take a picture to send to Mickey later. Maybe with a request for a reward, he considered amusingly. But, then John's big hand was scooping up the empty container and depositing it into the trash. He'd like to be grateful for John actually cleaning up the kitchen, but as he watched him he only felt annoyed. His entire presence annoyed him, even worse than usual, lately.

“Can't wait for the weekend,” said John on his way to the bedroom.

“I'll bet,” called out Ian in return.

John spoke again from the bedroom, but Ian couldn't hear him. He rolled his eyes and stood, as this was one of the many small things he couldn't stand about the man. He expected Ian to just follow him around.

“What did you say?” asked Ian as he walked into the bedroom to find John changing.

“I said, we're going to have a fun night tomorrow.”

Ian tensed. He watched John for a moment as his heart rate increased more and more.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nate invited us out tomorrow,” explained John as he yanked a t-shirt over his head, “He knows someone that's going to get us into this big new year's party at some club. VIP section, Baby.”

Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“You didn't tell me about that.”

John paused, sending Ian a skeptical look. “So?”

“So I already made plans,” said Ian, crossing his arms to physically show he would not budge on this.

“Well, I just found out about this today, so now your plans have changed.”

“You can't just do that!” spat Ian irritably.

John looked genuinely taken aback by the outburst. And then the usual fight flickered over his expression.

“Yes the hell I can,” argued John unflinchingly, “You're going out with me tomorrow night.”

“John, I made plans with Lip and Liam,” lied Ian with a heavy pleading tone. “I'm not canceling on my _family_.”

“I don't care who you made plans with, you still work for me. So, sorry, but you're on the clock with _me_ tomorrow night.”

Ian must've looked as angry as he felt, because John leveled him with a look.

“Do I need to remind you of how much money I'm pouring into your bank account every month? This is the kind of shit I pay you for.”

Shame rose up Ian's face until it burned red. It mixed with his anger about as well as gasoline did with fire.

“You can hang out with them next new year's eve, alright? But, this one you'll be with me. Nate specifically invited me _and you_.”

Ian spat out a sound of disbelief and returned, “You do realize that Nate invites me to things all the time because he wants to fuck me, right? Your _husband_.”

“All my friends want to fuck you,” dismissed John easily, “That's one of the reasons why I made the proposal for our arrangement. Having a husband that every one wants is worth the expense.”

“Wow.”

“Did I miss something? You know this.”

“Don't I reserve the right to turn down anything I want?”

“Only when it comes to sex.”

Ian shook his head, locking his jaw for a moment. This was total bullshit.

“Fine. I'll go.”

“Geez, you act like I just told you that you're going to be cleaning up shit all night. We're going to be in the _VIP section_ of one of the best clubs on _new year's eve_. Come on, Ian, it's going to be fun.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Ian darkly.

 _No control_. His mind endlessly spun with the words. He had absolutely no control.

*

Ian tried to numb himself to it all to get through the day. This lack of control was nothing new. His life hadn't been his own in so long. He was very much so aware of the facts of his reality. And yet, for some damn reason, now he was really struggling to just go along with it.

But, still. He tried.

He kept his reactions, even mentally, to his entire day stuffed down and silenced. He wouldn't acknowledge the frustration he felt.

Ian _drifted_ through his work day. He felt like he was on autopilot as he did his duties and even while chatting with coworkers. Muscle memory had him dropping Liam off at Lip's in silence, without hesitation. And it had him returning home to the condo without any of the reluctance that screamed to manifest.

He had even fought hard all day to not think about Mickey and what he could be doing with him. But, as Ian found himself attempting to escape again with his treadmill, Mickey was bright in his mind; tempting and so far out of reach. He could be spending every day with him, he thought, if John wasn't a factor. If his current life goals weren't factors.

He was panting and dizzy when he stepped off of the treadmill, feeling borderline high. His t-shirt and basketball shorts were soaked in sweat. He wasn't even sure how long he had run for, but it seemed time had certainly gotten away from him as he checked his phone. They would be leaving in less than two hours.

Ian drew in a deep, painful breath and left the gym room, tucking his phone into the pocket of his shorts. Immediately upon opening the door he heard laughter and his heart sunk, his jaw clenching. With a sigh he headed towards the kitchen where he saw a small group of men sitting in the living room, scattered over the furniture.

John looked up and grinned.

“I was wondering when you were going to finish,” he chuckled.

Ian was still breathing roughly, so he simply sent a wave in greeting to the familiar faces, as he headed to the fridge for a bottle of water.

The bathroom door opened and Nate walked out, immediately smiling when he spied Ian. Ian attempted to drown himself to escape Nate, chugging the majority of the bottle down. Yet, Nate didn't leave the kitchen. He simply watched Ian with an appreciative eye, running a hand through his short and bouncy chocolate brown curls.

“You look good, Ian,” he said.

Ian openly rolled his eyes and shook his head with a laugh. “Whatever.”

Unbelievably, Ian was relieved when John joined them in the kitchen, heading towards Ian with a pleased look. He wrapped his arm around Ian and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Ugh, you're so sweaty,” laughed John as he wiped his mouth.

Ian chuckled, noticing that the other men were also making their way into the kitchen.

“Yeah, wish you would've told me everyone was _coming over early_ ,” returned Ian through what he hoped looked like a playful smile.

“We thought we should all go out for dinner first,” chimed Antonio, a man Ian had only seen once before. To his credit, he had seemed more down to earth than the rest of the group.

Ian smiled at him sincerely and nodded, “Sounds great. Let me go shower real quick.”

“Take your time,” spoke John, but Ian knew he meant the opposite, despite his caring tone.

Ian gave him a quick kiss and set his bottle of water down, before heading towards the bathroom. John smacked his behind as he passed him, causing the room to erupt his chuckles. He made himself smile over his shoulder at John as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he closed the door behind him, Ian deflated with exhaustion and defeat, his smile dropping away like a rock in the sea.

He locked the door and turned the shower on, then pulled his phone from his pocket. This was always his safe time to text Mickey, and yet he didn't. He opened a new thread, but he had no idea what to say. For the first time, he felt entirely stuck and blank with texting Mickey. He wanted to whine, but that seemed pointless. He wanted to apologize again for having to cancel their new year's plans, but he'd already done that enough during work hours, and didn't want to be annoying. He wanted to tell him he missed him, but that felt like a summoning tool for the anger he had been keeping at bay all day.

Ian sighed heavily and dropped his phone on the sink before climbing into the shower.

Back to autopilot.

 

*

Ian would've thought the _VIP_ section of a club would be a little quieter, but it was still deafening. He felt detached from his body as he stared mindlessly out at the dance floor. John had been trying to get him to dance all night, but that truly sounded like the worse way to spend his time, now. Instead, he had shaken his head at him every time and kept himself firmly planted in the faux leather booth seat surrounding the _VIP_ table littered with drinks.

His mind was lost in his imagination of the other version of his life. The good one.

In this other reality he was dancing with Mickey in the living room of Damon's home, flirting via his eyes, and whispering suggestions in Mickey's ear. He was laughing and drinking with Amy and Keisha. He was helping Val with food. He was squished against Mickey on the couch, watching the new year's eve special on the television with everyone else.

He was kissing Mickey as the clock struck midnight—they were both smiling and looking at each other with promises of the future. Promises of exciting changes the year would bring them as a couple.

But, the reality repeatedly beat Ian down. That other life didn't win. He would not be doing any of those things. Instead, he was in a booming club, watching his asshole husband grinding on his friend on the multi-colored dance floor. He was forcing a smile every time they both looked his way with suggestive gazes that churned Ian's stomach. He was pushing through the night. He was drinking his overpriced alcohol. He was clutching his phone in his hand, making endless wishes for just one moment that felt safe enough to text Mickey.

Ian had decided at the restaurant that he wouldn't pace himself with alcohol, like he normally did. Not tonight. He needed some sort of help to numb himself.

It had been exhausting eating dinner, as he had kept his dutiful facade up the entire time; staying engaged in meaningless conversation with John's friends that lived entirely different lives than he had. They were shallow and cruel, just like John, and it took so much effort to pretend he was okay with that.

Antonio and the tall, dark, and handsome Booker returned to the table, looking elated from a combination of dancing and the cocaine the group had been passing around all night. Ian was sure he hadn't ever said the word _no_ so many times in the course of a couple hours. He was also sure he had never felt more like a stiff, cold fish. They were all enjoying themselves to the fullest, and there he was pouting and unmovable in the booth.

“Ian, man, you got to get out there!” yelled Booker over the music, “It's crazy on the dance floor!”

“He says that because he just made out with a stranger,” laughed Antonio with a roll of his eyes.

“Be jealous,” returned Booker, raising his hand to put his palm in front of Antonio's face.

Ian laughed with them.

“Maybe I'll go out there in a bit. I'm just really fucking tired,” stated Ian, and it actually wasn't a lie.

“Told you, we can help with that,” replied Booker with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Ian laughed again and shook his head several times. “I'm good, thanks!”

He suddenly felt a presence beside him and groaned internally when he saw who it was. John dropped into the booth next to him, holding two shot glasses filled with clear liquid. He set one in front of Ian and moved in nice and close. His hands were on Ian possessively as he set his mouth against his ear.

“Alright, you've sulked enough. You're gonna take this shot and then you're going to come to the dance floor with me and make all my friends jealous, got it?”

Ian was clenching his jaw, his eyes half closed as he tried to let go of all the anger that bubbled up, again; the lack of control that made him itchy with regret. His brain kept screaming the truth, however, over and over.

_I don't want to be here._

Still, Ian tried again to let it all go. There was nothing he could do about it, now. He tried to tell himself to lean into the moment—to find some sort of enjoyment out of it. He loved to dance. It used to be a release for him.

Ian reached for the shot in front of him before John had even finished talking into his ear about putting on a show. His mind drifted to another reality—one he had already lived through. He found himself back in Boystown, putting on a face for his customers to get the biggest tips and easiest experience. He slammed the shot glass back down and reached for John's shot, too.

John was laughing as he watched his husband inhale the second shot. His mouth returned to Ian's ear and he spoke, “If that's what's gonna get you going, I'll buy you more.”

Ian hissed around the burn of the expensive liquor and pushed the empty shot glass away. He shook his head and began to shove John forcefully out of the booth.

“Let's go,” he yelled over the noise of the club.

Ian actually found himself smiling, his head tilting back in pleasure, as at last he felt himself go numb to all the ugly truth he had been battling. He felt the tiniest hint of freedom as he moved his body to the beat of the pulsing music. He didn't recoil when he felt John's predatory hands on him, he rolled in tighter.

He felt himself go higher and higher as they danced through three songs. The fourth was interrupted nearly right away as the dj announced the approaching new year. The crowd on the dance floor became more dense and suffocating, but Ian was laughing as he and John were squished together tighter. Nate was in their faces yelling excitedly about something that Ian's buzzed brain could not keep up with. John replied with enthusiasm, but Ian's focus was on the dancing lights on the ceiling. He kept his arms wrapped around John and drifted through his haze, only resurfacing when the crowd around him screamed the number _five_.

He quickly joined them, looking from Nate to John's other friend— _what was his name?_ It didn't matter, thought Ian with more self-amusement as he turned his goofy gaze to John. They shouted the last two numbers at each other and then the noise of the crowd was exponentially louder as the new year began.

John kissed Ian as confetti fell from the ceiling, and for this moment he was not his keeper, or the opposite of his true desire, but just a warm mouth. It was fine. But then there was someone invading their space. John's mouth detached from Ian's to instead press against Nate's, causing Ian's brows to shoot up onto his forehead. He laughed at the nonsensical sight, until Nate was turning and kissing _him_.

Ian quickly pulled away and playfully shoved Nate's face away with a less enthused laugh. He looked to John, who simply shrugged in amusement.

“Come on, Ian,” whined Nate loudly as he invaded his space again, “We can all have a lot of fun tonight!”

Ian was entirely blindsided by this prospect and for one panicky second he didn't know what to do, as John wasn't stepping in. He didn't want to reply in the wrong way and piss John off.

So, he just laughed thoroughly and shook his head, like Nate had made a ridiculous joke. Ian then grabbed John's hand and moved them more towards the center of the dance floor to continue dancing. With his back to Nate he widened his eyes at John and mouthed, _“What the fuck?”_

John still just looked amused, which concerned Ian. He gave John a serious look before leaning in to speak into his ear, “I'm gonna hit that guy if he doesn't back off!”

John laughed and pulled Ian's body closer.

“Whatever, he's hot! Take the compliment and just _loosen up_ , alright?”

That was even more difficult now than before, as now he felt like Nate was lurking. Even when he went to the restroom soon after he was scared he'd follow him. Ian couldn't trust himself not to knock the man out in his inebriated state. And he really came close not even a half hour later when he returned to the VIP section to inhale another drink.

Nate slid into the booth next to him and Ian immediately searched the area for John. He was at the bottom of the stairs that led to the VIP area, talking with Antonio. And even as Ian stared for a moment, he didn't catch John's eye before Nate started running his mouth, again.

“You sure I can't pursued you to let me come home with you two?”

Ian uncontrollably sent him an impatient look and returned, “I don't even think John would be into that.”

Nate smirked knowingly and Ian's heart dropped into his gut. He glanced at John and found him still busy laughing with Antonio. He returned his gaze to Nate and just shook his head.

Nate smiled a little wider, in a vulturine fashion. Ian contemplated getting up to just stand next to John, or something, but Nate leaned over to speak into his ear directly before he could even twitch.

“What if I sweetened the deal? Say... _a grand_?”

“You're offering me money for sex?” spat Ian irritably, loudly over the music. “Are you serious? I'm telling John you said that!”

Nate laughed heartily and leaned close once more to return, “Who do you think suggested I try it?”

Ian felt like he had been punched in the gut. He clenched his teeth as he stared at Nate with fiery threats that seemed to finally smack the smile from the man's face.

“I may be his whore, but I'll never be yours! Got that, asshole?”

Ian stood so quickly, with such force, that he slammed into the table, which moved it a few inches and caused three of the drinks to spill over. The crash was even loud enough that John seemed to hear it over the music, because he looked their way.

His eyes were wider than usual as Ian stomped his way over to him. He knew. He knew Ian was officially done.

Ian just breezed past him, growling out, “We need to talk!”

Ian was not polite as he pushed and shouldered his way through the crowd towards the entrance where it was at least a little quieter. He could barely stand still, however, as he waited for John to catch up. When he did, he wasted no time diving into it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” barked Ian, “You told your friend to offer me money for sex? I thought he didn't know about our arrangement.”

John scoffed, crossing his arms, and glancing around in seemingly paranoid concern. Ian didn't really care who heard it, however. He was too angry.

“No, none of them know about it. I told him it'd be fun to see what your reaction would be.”

Ian gave him a bewildered look. “Wow, that's so fucking fun. Hey, thanks for even thinking to mention to me that you were trying to make that happen tonight. Thanks for asking me if I'd even be interested!”

“It just came up, Ian! This wasn't some masterful plan!”

“Sounds like it was!”

“I just thought it would be fun, and figured you'd appreciate making some extra money. I suggested that _for you_. You're fucking welcome, you ingrate.”

“You can go fuck yourself,” shouted Ian quickly, “Or Nate, I really don't fucking care. I'm leaving. You can do whatever the fuck you want, I'm not coming home tonight.”

Ian barely made it a step as John stepped in front of him and threw his arms out wide, aggressively.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To Lip's! I'm staying there tonight—and don't fuckin' worry, I'll pay for the ride with my own god damn money. I know I'm wasting yours by not jumping through your fucked up hoops.”

“Just go,” spat John, eyeing Ian with distaste, “I'm fucking over your uptight attitude.”

 

**

Mickey had left Damon's house five minutes after midnight. The disappointment he had felt at not getting to spend the holiday with Ian had been a bit of a burden. He'd felt distracted the entire night. And when the new year had started and he watched all the couples around him kiss, it had been a painful blow to his heart. It wasn't fair, he had thought, he wanted that with Ian. It was just another reminder than things would never be easy in life. He was still cursed. Even finding someone that was so well matched for him had to come with attached strings. He could never just get what he wanted without a massive struggle, or some kind of pain clutching onto it.

He felt pathetic as he sat on his couch, staring endlessly at his silent phone. All he wanted was just a quick text from Ian. Just some sort of reminder that he at least had a piece of his largest desire.

Loud knocking on his front door had him jumping out of his sullen state. He looked over his shoulder at the door with suspicion and slowly rose. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at this hour?

“Who the fuck is it?” yelled Mickey as he neared the door.

Unexpectedly familiar laughter flitted in from the other side of the door.

“You're home!” exclaimed Ian, “I'm so happy you're home!”

 

 


	19. If I Could Swim, I'd Swim Out to You In the Ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the kinda choppy POV changes, but it felt necessary.
> 
> _Possible Trigger Warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and mostly-canon-compliant version of Mickey's past_

Ian was leaning against the door frame, clutching a small bottle of clear liquor. He smiled lazily with his eyelids at half-mast as he moved forward, reaching for Mickey.

“Ian, what're you—“

Their mouths collided and Mickey tasted nothing but rum. Ian moaned happily into his mouth as he opened his wider, slipping his tongue wildly against Mickey's lips.

Mickey was dizzy as Ian pushed him back into the apartment, slamming the door behind him, and kissing him like he was starving. He felt like this was some practical joke, as there was no way this was really happening. Maybe he was dreaming.

Prying his mouth away from Ian, Mickey looked to him with wide eyes, but it took a few seconds for Ian to look at him in return. Mickey raised both brows high and gave Ian a questioning look.

“What happened?” he asked, “I thought you were supposed to be out with John all night.”

Ian unexpectedly laughed and leaned back in close as he replied, “Plans changed. I'm here now.”

He kissed Mickey, again, who admittedly couldn't resist indulging for a moment. He had been sitting on his couch waiting for just _a text_ from Ian, and now he was there; kissing Mickey like he was made of velvet chocolate.

As Mickey caved he lifted his hand to the side of Ian's head and walked it down to his very warm neck. He could feel Ian smiling a bit as they parted their mouths together, tongues meeting in the middle.

However, regardless of how pleased he was to be kissing Ian, he pulled himself away again.

“How much you had to drink?”

“Uhm...” hummed Ian with a growing smile. He shrugged and replied, “Lost track.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes at him and Ian only grinned wider.

“Had lots at the club and he got me a bottle on the way here,” murmured Ian, raising the small bottle he still held. His eyes glazed a bit on the bottle and then he unscrewed the plastic cap.

Mickey let out a quick laugh and snatched the bottle from Ian's hands before he could take a drink.

“Who's _he_?” asked Mickey, before he stole a big gulp of the liquor, grimacing at the poor quality.

“My lyft driver,” laughed Ian.

At least now he knew how Ian had safely gotten to his apartment.

When Ian reached out for the bottle, Mickey held it further away and walked away a couple of steps to set it on the table.

“Well, I'm pretty sure you've had enough,” said Mickey as he turned to face Ian, who was in fact swaying endlessly.

Mickey tried not to laugh at the sight of him. Ian had such a slap-happy expression on his face. He had a familiar urge to reach out to him, but first he needed some answers.

“So, what happened?” he asked, “How'd you end up here?”

Something strange passed over Ian's expression. His eyes glazed a bit more and his smile fell away, but he shook off his coat and stumbled over to hang it up, speaking casually over his shoulder.

“Told him I'm staying at Lip's tonight, so we're in the clear.”

“Why?”

Ian laughed and kicked off a shoe, but as he tried to remove the second one he fell forward and barely caught himself in time against the wall. Mickey sighed a bit as he walked around the table, preparing to help him.

“Because I wanna stay here tonight,” said Ian, successfully removing the second shoe.

Mickey scowled at his reply and reached his hands out as he watched the man stand up straight again. Ian turned with another big smile and immediately wrapped a hand around Mickey's side, pulling him in close once more with a deep, pleased sound reverberating through him.

Mickey resisted this time, his curiosity piqued. He reached up, putting a hand on either side of Ian's head and really tried to hold his attention.

“Ian, look at me,” demanded Mickey, tilting his head down a bit as he captured Ian's gaze. “He do somethin' to you?”

Again there was a shift in Ian's expression. He frowned and his eyes wandered off. Mickey felt himself bracing for a rage he would likely struggle to control.

“He pissed me off,” answered Ian with a dismissive tone.

“What'd he do?”

“Fuck him,” spat Ian, straightening again and pulling his head from Mickey's hands, “It's not even about him—It's—It's, you know, about me. I'm fucked up.”

“Uh, clearly,” returned Mickey sarcastically, with an extra point to his brow.

“No, not like that—Can we just not talk about this? _I'm here_.” Ian lifted one corner of his mouth and gravitated right back into Mickey's breathing space. His hands returned to his sides as he softly spoke, “I could've gone home to Lip's, but I wanted to be with you. I _want_ you, Mickey.”

Even as the hairs on Mickey's arms stood at attention to that, he shook his head and returned, “Na-uh, you're a little too fucked up for that.”

Ian pouted dramatically and tugged on Mickey. “I'm fine, Mick. Just really want you.”

“You are not fine, Gallagher,” argued Mickey, “You're totally shitfaced and you won't tell me what happened.”

Ian let out a long, loud sigh and pulled away, which had him swaying into the hanging coats beside them.

“It's bullshit I can't control, so why even talk about it?”

“Because I wanna know.”

“You really don't,” said Ian, the words coated with strangely sad laughter.

Mickey watched him run a hand over his flushed face, before he looked off towards the living room with a tense expression.

“Talking about it gives it power, Mick.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“It was already there, but then I acknowledged it and gave it life and now it won't leave me alone.”

“What's ' _it_ '?”

Ian took a stumbling step back as he wildly waved his hands into the air above his head.

“This dark fucking cloud.”

Ian motioned again, pointedly, so Mickey raised his eyes above Ian's head. He eyed the empty space for a moment before drawing a breath and frowning, “Ian, what happened?”

“That's the thing, Mick. Nothing's _gotta_ happen. I'm fucked for life. This god damn cloud is going to drift in whenever the hell it wants.”

“Look, I get that, but something obviously happened outside of your fuckin' pet cloud.”

Ian snorted at the end of Mickey's words, which then turned to rising laughter.

“ _Pet cloud_ ,” laughed Ian heartily.

Mickey rolled his eyes as he uncontrollably smiled. Ian's laughter was too infectious. He clearly wasn't getting any real answers tonight, so he conceded. He'd grill him more in the morning, he decided. At least he knew that John wouldn't be busting down his door.

“Come on, let's get you to bed,” suggested Mickey, motioning towards the hall with his head.

Ian sprouted a knowing smile that Mickey shook his head at. He tried to remain stern and determined, even if amusement was endlessly bubbling up inside of him.

“Get your ass moving, Gallagher,” barked Mickey as he took hold of Ian and turned him, to push on his back. Ian began his clumsy way down the hall with Mickey keeping his hands on him to usher him.

“You gotta piss, or puke, or anything?”

“Nope,” chirped Ian, “I'm _so good_ , now.”

Mickey chuckled and pushed him into the bedroom, all the way to the end of the bed.

“Well, until I'm not, again,” added Ian reflectively, tilting his head back a bit.

Mickey raised his brows at him, but didn't say anything as he reached out to remove the thin belt Ian wore.

“You know, when you're numb to stuff, sometimes good things make you aware of the bad shit,” continued Ian, “Isn't that fucked up? Shouldn't good things just balance the other shit, not make you more aware of them, or whatever?”

“Yeah, I dunno,” murmured Mickey as he dropped the belt aside. “How bout you just stop thinkin' about all that and lay down, hm?”

Ian nodded with a tired frown and looked down Mickey's body.

“You gonna lay down with me?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Ian's frown morphed into a pleased smile and he reached a hand back to grasp his shirt, pulling it up over his head. He unbuttoned his pants and opened the flaps, but went no further, as if he lost all remaining strength, and instead reached forward to the bed and crawled up to collapse on his tummy. Mickey shook his head, smiling amusingly, and leaned down to remove Ian's socks.

Ian let forth a groan into the mattress as Mickey peeled each sock away. Mickey then did his nightly check of everything in his apartment, double-checking the door locks and windows, shutting off the lights, taking a final piss, and returned to the bedroom to find Ian lying on his back, now, in nothing more than his boxer-briefs.

His eyes were glued to Mickey as he moved towards the bed to join him. There was a heaviness to his gaze that gave Mickey pause, though.

“Mm, take your fucking clothes off already,” insisted Ian lowly.

Mickey rolled his eyes, letting out a laugh, and returned, “Ian, I mean it. I'm not fuckin' you while you're this messed up.”

“No, I—not to fuck,” clarified Ian with a round of chuckles, “I wanna feel your skin on my skin.”

A strong fluttering in Mickey's stomach turned to sweet tingling down his limbs. He uncontrollably smiled as he removed his shirt, then kicked his pants off and away. Ian's eyes were burning into him the entire time.

“Alright, but if you reach for my dick, even once, I'm putting my pants back on,” teased Mickey as he climbed into bed under the covers.

“As if you could resist,” smirked Ian before he moved towards Mickey like a hungry feline.

Mickey braced himself as Ian leaned in close, ready to fight off every impulse that Ian would attempt to draw out. Ian bit down on his bottom lip while he swayed a bit on his hands and knees.

“You like how I touch you too much,” spoke Ian quietly, but confidently, “Bet I could get you off in two minutes.”

Mickey's body reacted to those words immediately, aching to find out the truth in them. It took a lot of strength, and a deep breath, to make himself say, “Alright, pants are goin' back on.”

“Fine,” whined Ian dramatically, dropping onto the bed beside Mickey, “No sex, just cuddling, whatever.”

Mickey laughed at the small tantrum and reached down to lift the blankets out from under Ian. Ian assisted, pulling his legs up. As Ian settled under the blankets and fixed his chosen pillow under his head, Mickey spoke, “Tell ya what, you can try that shit first thing in the morning.”

Mickey was pretty confident that Ian was going to wake up feeling like death, but it was still hard not to flirt with him. Really, he couldn't even believe he was resisting the temptation in front of him.

“Mmm,” hummed Ian as he turned towards him, inching closer.

Mickey smiled as he slipped down to be at his level, resting his head on his pillow. And then his smile grew as he felt Ian's hand sliding onto his tummy, moving down to his waist, but going no further. As if there was an actual force field in his way.

“Fuck, Mick,” hissed Ian, “Why do you feel so good?”

“Cause you're drunk off your ass,” laughed Mickey.

“No, you always feel good,” argued Ian, “Do we really gotta go to sleep?”

Even as he asked that he murmured it, as if he lacked the strength to speak. Mickey snorted and turned towards him. Ian's lashes lifted so he could look him head on.

“You need it.”

Ian suddenly grinned and let out a laugh before he said, “What I really need is you in my mouth.”

Micky raised his brows and breathed, “Always persistent.”

“I just love it,” said Ian matter-of-factly, “I can shut everything else off when—“

A repetitive sound suddenly broke through the otherwise silence of the room. Ian furrowed his brow tensely and groaned, “Who the fuck is calling me?”

He sat up, swaying a bit, before he bent down towards the end of the bed. Mickey watched with even more amusement, as Ian fell onto the end of the bed with his ass waving in the air. He let out a laugh and reached out to playfully smack it, which had Ian laughing along with him as he fished his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants. Even when he answered his phone he was still chuckling.

“Yeah?” he laughed.

Ian fell back, dangerously close to Mickey, with his phone to his ear, so Mickey could hear the familiar voice on the other end.

“When are you getting here, man? It's late.”

“Oh, shit,” exclaimed Ian, “No, I'm not going there.”

“Ian, what the fuck? You said you were staying the night.”

“Mmm, uh, no. I didn't—here, talk to Mickey.”

Mickey's heart palpitated violently as Ian unexpectedly, and lazily, held the phone out to him. Mickey looked to him with wide eyes, but Ian was already closing his, barely keeping hold of his phone. Mickey sighed irritably and took the phone, sitting up, as if that would help.

“Hello?”

“Mickey?” returned Lip, “What the hell is going on?”

Mickey again sighed, before explaining, “Ian showed up at my placed fucked up.”

“He texted me and said he was going to stay the night.”

“I dunno, man. He said that he told John he was staying at your place, so he could come here, instead.”

A quiet moment passed and Mickey again looked down to Ian, whose mouth was open and eyes were closed, as if he had already drifted off to sleep.

“Is he okay?” asked Lip, seemingly with reluctance.

“I don't know,” answered Mickey honestly, “He wouldn't tell me what set him off.”

“John was probably being a douche, as usual.”

Mickey snorted, “That's a fair fucking assumption.”

“Alright, well, you got him for the night?”

“Yeah, he's fine. Think he already conked out.”

“Thanks, Mick. I'll send douchebag a text and tell him Ian's sleeping at my place.”

“'Kay, good idea.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Mickey ended the call and looked down to Ian. He frowned as he again wondered what had gotten him to this messy state. He reached a hand out and slipped his fingers into Ian's hair, running his palm along his scalp. Ian audibly pulled in a breath.

And then his phone buzzed in Mickey's hand, stealing his attention. Mickey couldn't stop himself from investigating, it was right there. He could see the text was from John, but the phone was locked.

Mickey nibbled his lip as he glanced at Ian with strong invasive impulses. He was proud of himself for resisting for all of _forty seconds_ , considering his curiosity was overwhelming.

“Ian?” spoke Mickey, leaning down a bit, “Ian, what's your password?”

“Hm?” moaned Ian, his eyes staying shut.

“What's your phone password?” repeated Mickey.

Ian let out an unprompted laugh and rolled towards Mickey once more, snuggling deeper into the bed. “Phone password,” mumbled Ian.

Mickey scowled and spoke more confidently, “Yes, your phone password. I wanna check something.”

“Mmm,” hummed Ian, before drawing in a loud breath through his nose. “Uh, two-four-two...eight.”

Mickey's heart jumped, shocked that he'd actually gotten the entry code to the sketchy temptation in his hand. He tried the password with a tinge of regret. Normally, he'd never cross over boundary lines like this, but his worry argued that this was the exception. He told himself that he'd admit it to Ian in the morning and apologize. He could justify it.

But, a large part of him taunted that there was no justification. He was just weak to the curiosity that plagued him. It was fine, he reassured himself, he'd _only_ read John's messages.

John had apparently sent him more than one text message. And Mickey's heart raced violently as he read them all.

**John:** _Are you seriously fucking staying at your brother's all night?_

**John:** _You embarrassed me. Everyone's asking why you left._

**John:** _Nate said he'll never do that again, alright? All you had to do was say no._

**John:** _Why are you being so dramatic today?_

**John:** _When did you stop wanting to have fun? We used to have fun all the time, remember? You act like you hate me now._

**John:** _Can you at least let me know you didn't get kidnapped by a lyft driver?_

**John:** _Ian seriously you better fucking answer me_

And then one final text came in that made Mickey's stomach churn and his blood boil.

**John:** _You owe me._

Mickey's entire body was tense and tight as he read them over and over, his chest burned with anger. What the hell had actually happened? Who the fuck was this Nate dude? Ian put up with a lot of shit, so it must have been bad if he'd been angry enough to flee.

Mickey was a slave to this rage he felt. He couldn't relax; couldn't even lay down. He smoked a cigarette. Then another. His eyes endlessly skimmed those messages, as if he hoped he could decode them and get the full story.

He was plotting a violent attack on John when Ian unexpectedly stirred beside him. Guilt squeezed his heart as he quickly shut off Ian's phone screen and tossed it to the other side of the redhead.

When he looked down to Ian he almost jumped, as he found his green eyes opened and on him. Did he know? Was he about to be in trouble?

“Mickey?” rasped Ian, his tone confused.

He looked a little surprised as he glanced down the bed and around the dark bedroom. But, as his gazed pinned onto Mickey's, again, something concerning glazed over his eyes. Ian looked weak, frightened. He gave him a smile which wobbled with unexpected emotion.

“You feeling okay? Need to puke?” questioned Mickey worriedly.

Ian shook his head. His lips were trembling as they sunk down. And then Mickey's mouth was dropping open as he watched Ian's eyes swell with tears. Ian raised a hand to rub his face and a tear slip out from the corner of his eye.

“Something's wrong with me, Mick,” whispered Ian.

Mickey was frozen with terror. Those words had a weight to them that was clearly crushing Ian. He didn't know what to say, his jaw hung open until his mouth had gone completely dry. He watched Ian wipe away his tear and listened to him sniffle as he then moved closer towards Mickey. He laid his head on Mickey's chest, and Mickey immediately wrapped his arms around him.

Ian pulled the comforter up over Mickey's arms and his own shoulder, snuggling deeper into Mickey.

“You're okay, Ian,” offered Mickey, almost inaudibly. “You're with me.”

Ian's fingertips pressed tight into Mickey's flesh and he felt him take a deep, steadying breath. Mickey's eyes worriedly zipped around as much of Ian as he could look at in this position. He frowned and began to stroke Ian's hair, taking a moment to kiss the top of his head.

Ian seemed to settle after just a few minutes, going quiet and becoming completely still. And then his breathing shifted and Mickey swore he took his first breath in a long series of moments, relieved that Ian was again at peace for a moment.

 

 

_*_

Mickey awoke feeling like he'd been hit by a train. His sleep had been restless, his dreams transcribing his worry and confusion. But, as he looked to the time and found it already ten a.m. he rose from the bed. He stumbled back into his comfortable clothes as he eyed Ian through tired lashes.

He was sleeping, still, looking knocked out for the count.

Mickey decided he'd give the man more sleep before he tried to wake him. He drank coffee and made enough breakfast for both of them. He sat at his dining room table for an entire hour, just messing around on his phone to keep his tired mind from reviewing the previous night. It was when he couldn't stop it from wandering to John's messages that he stood up.

Mickey brought a bottle of water and two aspirin with him as he made his way to the bedroom. Ian was curled up under the comforter still, which had him smiling a bit as he sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

“Hey,” said Mickey softly as he ran a hand down Ian's arm. “You gonna get up?”

Ian didn't even twitch.

Mickey shook him a little and spoke, “Ian, get up, man. I brought you water and aspirin.”

Still, nothing.

Mickey let out a laugh and decided to let him be for a little while longer. He left the aspirin and water on the empty nightstand on that side of the bed and returned to the dining room table.

Another hour passed before Mickey decided to try again, returning to the same spot on the bed, as it seemed Ian hadn't moved at all. He spoke to him a little more boisterously this time.

“Come on, Sleepyhead, it's time to get up.”

This time Ian did stir a bit, and he groaned mournfully into his pillow.

“I know, I know,” chuckled Mickey, “I'm sure ya feel like shit, but you gotta hydrate. I got eggs waiting for ya in the microwave.”

Ian simply curled up tighter, hiding under the comforter completely.

“Come on, man. It's noon,” pleaded Mickey, “You gotta get up.”

“No.”

He spoke so quietly and simply.

Mickey rolled his eyes, cutting another laugh from his mouth, “Stop being a fuckin' baby, you gotta get up.”

Still, Ian didn't budge. And as a long moment unfolded with silence Mickey felt it was just not going to happen yet. So, he gave up again, heaving a sigh.

It wasn't until one-thirty when he really became concerned. Neither the aspirin nor the water had been touched. There was no way Ian didn't have to at least piss by now. There was no way he wasn't thirsty.

Mickey pointedly dropped back onto the same spot of the bed this time. Ian stirred a bit, clearly curling his legs up under the blanket.

“Okay, Ian, what's up? You gotta at least drink some water.”

When there was no reply, no movement, Mickey carefully reached out to the top of the comforter and pulled it away from Ian's face. He was definitely awake and there were tears in his reddened eyes, which had Mickey's heart dropping to his feet.

“Hey, whoa, you okay?”

Ian turned away to his other side, curling up tightly with the comforter once more. Mickey chased him, reaching out to his shoulder.

“Ian, the hell's goin' on?” asked Mickey worriedly, “Did something happen?”

“Sorry,” murmured Ian so quietly that Mickey barely heard it.

Mickey watched him for a quiet moment with a scrunched brow. He carefully rubbed Ian's arm and waited for an explanation.

Nothing.

“Ian, should I be worried or—“

“I'm fine,” interjected Ian firmly.

“Obviously you're fuckin' not. Just tell me what's goin' on.”

“I'm just having an off day, it's fine,” returned Ian vaguely in a shockingly irritable tone.

Mickey pulled away from him, his mind buzzing with confusion and worry. What was he supposed to do?

“Just...Just give me a minute, okay?” pressed Ian.

His tone was so flat, so empty. Mickey wasn't sure he had ever heard him this way before, and so he didn't know what way to react.

“A minute? You've been in bed forever.”

“Just leave me alone.”

A tinge of hurt had Mickey rising from the bed. He wanted to snap at him, tell him to get over himself. But, the fact that this was so opposite of how Ian normally was just had him feeling suspicious and concerned. He walked away without another word spoken, just hoping that Ian would be up and back to normal soon.

**

“ _Something's wrong with me.”_

He had the faintest memory of speaking this out loud to Mickey, but he wasn't confident of just how real it was. Maybe it had just been a dream? It didn't matter much, as saying it in either reality or sleep had made it real.

“ _Something's wrong with me.”_

Admitting it out loud seemed to only bring it all forward. He knew deep down, somewhere within, that all he wanted was to beckon it forward. It had been a lurking shadow in his peripherals, making him feel unsure and disoriented. He had needed it to show itself. And yet, now that it was here in full view, he just wanted it gone.

He was at once entirely empty and entirely full. It wasn't even numbness, but just an absence of anything significant. And yet there was an overwhelming simmering pot of despair that consistently remained just out of reach, taunting and poking at him.

He was a slave to these sensations, unable to move or plan his way out. But all he wanted was out. He needed escape—he needed to never feel these things again.

Part of him wished he was anywhere but at Mickey's. Because, when Mickey was in the same room, watching him, he was overwhelmed with negativity and shame. He couldn't stand the fact that he was seeing him this way. At least when he was out of the room Ian mostly felt numb and blank, with a only a flickering of dread.

He felt it would be better for Mickey if he just didn't say a word. Certainly saying nothing would be frustrating for the other man, but it was better than the alternative. It was better than letting the dispiriting words caught in his throat fumble out. He didn't want to bother Mickey with his unreasonable pessimism and self-loathing thoughts; all of his overwhelming fears of never being better, always being a struggle. Or the deep consuming desire to just give up ,which had seized every muscle in his body.

He couldn't possibly explain these things to Mickey. Not that he had the strength to do so, anyhow.

 

 

**

 

He'd snap out of it, right? Maybe he was just grumpy because he wasn't feeling well. After all, Mickey had never experienced a sick Ian before. He told himself things like this to calm himself down for the next three hours as Ian still didn't get up to even use the bathroom.

Mickey distracted himself with work, deciding that coding would be soothing in a way he could shut his brain off but stay focused on something. And it was, but only for that short while. When his fingers began to ache and his mind couldn't stop wandering to Ian, he closed his laptop and pushed it away from where he sat at the dining room table.

He wanted to check on him again, but had developed a fear of doing so. He knew he would be met with the same roadblocks. And he just didn't know how to handle them—or what to even make of them.

And there was a confusing sensation of missing Ian, even though he was laying in his bed.

After anxiously chewing on his lower lip for a good minute of indecisiveness, he rose and headed back for the bedroom. The dark bedroom was filled with blue light that had his face scrunching and his feet leading him back to the right side of the bed. Ian's phone was on the nightstand, lying face down. The repetitive vibrations reverberated off of the wood of the nightstand like a scream through the room, making Mickey itchy for silence.

He worriedly looked between the phone and Ian for a moment before asking, “You gonna get that?”

No answer. Mickey frowned and leaned down to flip the phone over, so he could see who was calling. It was John. Mickey let out a sharp swear, before saying, “Ian, John's callin' you. What're ya gonna do?”

Nothing. Not a single twitch.

“Ian, if you don't get back to him, what would he do?”

The ringing stopped and Ian still hadn't moved. Mickey sat on the bed, apprehensively eyeing Ian's form for only the hundredth time of the day. He frowned and used his newfound knowledge from last night to unlock the phone.

John had called six times now, left three voicemails, and had texted Ian eleven times.

**John:** _We should talk. When are you going to be home?_

**John:** _Ian, are you seriously ignoring me?_

**John:** _Why aren't you answering my calls?_

**John:** _Jesus Christ, Ian, I'm sorry Nate upset you so much. I told him that he needs to back off, okay?_

**John:** _Ian, answer your fucking phone._

**John:** _Okay I'm starting to get pissed off._

**John:** _Do I need to go to your brother's or are you going to answer your phone?_

**John:** _Will you at least talk to me for fuck sake??_

**John:** _I promise that won't ever happen again, okay? Just talk to me._

**John:** _What are you just not going to come home? What about your brother? He's got school Monday._

**John:** _Okay I'm going to call your brother to make sure you're even alive_

“Fuck.” Mickey ran a hand down his face and looked to Ian again, “Ian, John said he's calling your brother. He said he might fucking go to his place. You gotta do something, man.”

A flighty anxiety filled Mickey to the brim until he was standing and rushing down his hall to snatch his cigarettes from the dining room table. He lit one and sucked in a deep hit as he reread the text messages again. Maybe it would be fine. Even if he realized Ian wasn't at Lip's he still wouldn't know to look at his place, right? But, what if he called the cops? What if he used it to ask around? What if someone they knew betrayed them? Either way, Ian would be in trouble, regardless of Mickey being included or not. This could make things a hundred times worse for him.

“Fuck,” mumbled Mickey sharply, again and again.

Until his thumb was seeking out Lip's name in the contacts. He didn't think twice about hitting the call button. Lip answered on the third ring.

“Yo, what the hell's going on,” said Lip by way of answering.

“Hey, it's Mickey. Did John call you?”

“Yeah, but I ignored it. Is Ian okay?”

“We gotta do something. John's freaking out and he said something about going to your place.”

“Mick, what's wrong with Ian?” asked Lip, redirecting the conversation with a firm, clear tone.

“I-I don't fuckin' know. He won't get out of bed. He said he's fine, just havin' an off day, whatever the fuck that means. But, he was like cryin' and shit. And John's been blowing up his phone all morning, apparently, but he doesn't even give a shit. Like, he hasn't even answered him once. I'm worried John's gonna do somethin'. Is there something I'm supposed to be doin'? Should I get his meds? You got any at your place? He didn't bring 'em with him.”

It was surprisingly quiet on the other end, which irritated Mickey. He felt panicked. He wasn't overreacting. He needed instructions, _now_.

“Fuck,” breathed Lip, “Liam told me he was worried about him. He said he's been showing signs of a depressive episode the last few days.”

“Yeah, he had a rough week. The whole world's been pissing him off and he said John's been extra irritating. And he's had trouble sleeping. I think he's been skippin' his lunches. And I think he hurt his back or somethin'.”

“Yeah, Mickey, you know, he's probably been depressed the whole time and ignoring the signs.”

“He was really stressed out when he went home last sunday,” mused Mickey quietly.

“Could've triggered something,” mumbled Lip. He released a loud breath into the phone and spoke, “Alright, look, I can swing over to John's and pick up his meds. Maybe let him know what's going on with Ian, to cover for him.”

“Good, yeah do that,” said Mickey quickly, nodding his head a few times, “I'll, uh, text you my address from my number.”

“Thanks, Mickey. But, just to give you a heads up, taking his meds isn't going to fix it.”

Mickey paused. “What do you mean? Isn't that what they do?”

“They help, but he can still have episodes on them. There's not much he can do, but ride it out. It'll just be good if he has his meds in case he ends up staying there longer than tonight. He can't go more than a day without taking them or his system will be thrown off.”

Mickey was shaking his head in disbelief as he listened. How long was he going to be like this? What the hell were they going to do about John? There's no way he was just going to let Ian stay gone without a response, at all. Ian had previously said that John didn't even seem to believe his mental health problems, so it probably wouldn't be long before John would start to really throw a fit.

 

 

**

Ian wanted to care, he really did. But, he just couldn't. No matter how many times he'd experienced it before, he would never get used to feeling trapped in his own body. It only made him hurt more; feel angrier with himself. He just wanted to care enough to do something.

Everything was potentially falling apart around him. John could be figuring out that he was lying about being at Lip's, which could lead to him figuring out that he was seeing somebody. And if he figured out it was Mickey somehow, that would ruin both of their lives.

But, still, he couldn't act. He had no strength. How was that even possible when there was so much on the line? He hated it—hated himself.

Unbelievably, more tears streamed down his cheeks. He felt so empty, he didn't know how he even had more of anything to shed; especially tears.

 

**

Mickey was restlessly pacing around his apartment, as it felt like an eternity had passed with no change from any direction. He inhaled a beer, but that did nothing. He smoked a few cigarettes, but swore he didn't even taste them.

When he finally heard a knock at his door, he rushed to it and yanked it open. Lip and Liam stood, bundled up, and looking a hell of a lot calmer than Mickey, albeit concerned.

“Hey, what's up,” greeted Mickey as he moved away from the door to let them in.

He moved to light another cigarette as the two entered, letting the door shut behind them.

“How's he doing?” inquired Lip.

“No change,” answered Mickey through his inhale, shaking his head.

Lip nodded, a tired look crossing his face as he unraveled the scarf from his neck. Liam stripped away his own coat and gloves and put them on one of the chairs at the table.

Mickey was so ready to do something—to fix Ian—that he couldn't stand still. He swayed back and forth on his feet as he puffed and puffed on his cigarette. It felt like the two of them were moving so slow as they removed their winter gear and casually looked around his apartment. He bit back harsh words he yearned to snap out at them.

“How was John?”

Lip shook his head, stretching his jaw irritably, before speaking, “A real fucking asshole, as usual. I told him that he needs to take this shit more seriously and he got all uppity. Said he'd call a doctor to send to my place. I told him that shit was pointless and that he just needed to back off for the day. Which he hated, of course.”

“But, he listened, right?” questioned Mickey, “He's not gonna send one there and figure out that Ian's somewhere else, is he?”

“He said he'd let it go, _for the day_ ,” chimed Liam, rolling his eyes through the last words.

“Such a prick,” grumbled Mickey with a shake of his head, “Did he tell you what happened?”

Lip let out a humorless laugh. “Fuck no. I asked him why Ian even showed up at my place at all and he just turned his nose up at me.”

“Somethin' to do with some asshole named Nate,” spoke Mickey irritably.

“That's John's friend,” explained Liam, “He's a douche.”

Lip snorted, but then motioned towards the hallway, “He in your room?”

Mickey nodded and barely paid attention as he smashed his cigarette into the ashtray. He then hurriedly led the way down the hall to his dimly lit room. He didn't move any further than his doorway. His heart broke all over again as he looked on at Ian, curled on his side with the comforter resting on his shoulder.

Lip patted Mickey's shoulder encouragingly while he moved inside the room.

“Hey, Ian,” he greeted nonchalantly as he made his way to the bed.

Mickey watched nervously as Lip laid on the bed, on his back, beside Ian with such casualness. Even as he spoke, it was as if nothing was wrong. It churned Mickey's stomach to think that this was so normal to them. That Lip had likely done this a few times.

“Damn, your boyfriend has a comfortable bed,” stated Lip, “Making that sweet ass tech money has it's perks, huh?”

Mickey crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, his gaze attached to Ian's form, hoping that at least the surprise of his brother's presence would shake him a bit. But, it didn't.

“Brought your meds,” continued Lip, “So, you don't have to worry about trying to leave any time soon. Just take it easy, alright?”

“Thanks,” murmured Ian, his tone blank and lacking.

Mickey frowned and anxiously scratched the back of his neck, garnering Lip's gaze. They stared at one another for a moment, until Lip motioned with his head. It took Mickey a moment to catch on to what Lip wanted, but when he did he listened to the request for privacy—a bit reluctantly.

Mickey wandered back out to the living room where he found Liam sitting at his dining room table, playing on his phone. Mickey dropped into the chair closest to the kitchen and lit up another cigarette. He scrubbed a hand over his face and reached out to pull the ashtray closer, his eyes flickering to Liam in the process. Liam had set his phone down and was watching Mickey.

“How long's this shit normally last? Lip said he could end up here for a while.”

Liam shrugged, a frown sprouting on his face, and answered, “Could be over quick, but I've seen it last a long time before. It could be days.”

“Fuck,” mumbled Mickey, his leg bouncing where it was stretched out in front of him.

He drew a long hit from his cigarette and glanced towards the hall.

“I've, uh, seen people depressed before,” admitted Mickey quietly, “But, never just outta nowhere. Just with grief and shit.”

“It can be scary to see it like this, huh?” returned Liam sullenly, luring Mickey's gaze to him. He offered Mickey an unexpectedly kind smile and added, “He'll be okay, Mickey. He'll be back to normal before you know it.”

Mickey held eye contact with the kid for a moment, wondering how he could thank him for the much needed relief he'd just given him. He nodded his head a bit as he looked away, pulling his bottom lip under his teeth.

“Hey, you hungry?” questioned Mickey.

Liam nodded his head, but his gaze was simply curious. As if he didn't understand the situation, or was just overly interested in watching it unfold.

“Made chicken n' dumplings. There's a shit ton.”

 

**

Ian had heard the shuffling in the hall and knew when Mickey walked away. Maybe he was upset at the prospect of Ian being in his apartment as a worthless blob for the rest of the weekend. He was probably so exhausted of Ian already.

“Mickey's alright, huh?” piped up Lip. “He, uh, really seems to give a shit about you.”

Ian wished he was deserving of that. He'd never wanted to make Mickey worry so much, and yet look what he'd done.

He listened to Lip pull in a deep breath. “Talked to John. He's pissed, but I reiterated the severity of the situation until he finally shut the fuck up. He said he'd leave you alone for the night, but who knows how true that is. He might be back to hounding you tomorrow.”

Ian couldn't stand the thought of facing that side of his life right now. Just the thought had him feeling so unbelievably exhausted his muscles ached. But, he had to face it eventually. As much as he just wanted to run away from it all—every single obstacle. He wanted to ignore it until he just faded away.

“I can't do this anymore,” blurted Ian, his voice trembling and strained. “I can't.”

“You don't have to, Ian. Just don't go back. Come home to us, we'll figure it out.”

How could it just be that simple? Nothing ever was. His entire life had been nothing but set-backs and impossible situations.

“I talked to Liam about it, and he's fine with going back to public school. I can more than handle the bills, now, at home. With your savings and getting another job you should have no problem affording school, right? You got all of the extra expenses out of the way a long time ago. Or you should have no problem getting a loan to finish out, if nothing else.”

_Too easy_ , Ian's brain screamed the words. His resistance was purely made of paranoia and fear. And even he knew it, yet he couldn't get himself to push past those feelings. What if it all fell apart? So close to the finish line. What if he'd have to settle for anything else, after all the work—all the frustration.

“Carl's going to be gone a lot, now, but we can handle it, just us and Liam. It'll be easy, Ian.”

“I can't think about...” mumbled Ian, trailing off as his throat ached while he pushed the words out. He just wanted to curl up in a hole and let it all fade away. “Just leave me alone.”

 

 

**

“You made this?” questioned Liam with disbelief.

Mickey nervously glanced away, his brow furrowing, before he answered, “Yeah, why?”

“From scratch?”

“Yeah, from scratch. Why, you don't like it?” asked Mickey a bit defensively.

“I love it,” smiled Liam as he gathered another bite on his spoon, “It's really good.”

Mickey felt accomplishment from that; he hadn't made anyone else this meal before. And if a preteen liked it, he must've done something right.

Mickey shrugged bashfully and returned, “It's pretty easy, actually.”

Lip suddenly strolled out from the hallway and Mickey quickly stood, his mouth ready to fire off a dozen questions.

“He okay?”

Lip sighed, “I've seen him a lot worse than that.”

Jesus, Mickey couldn't imagine. He frowned, but nodded his head in return.

“Just, you know, be patient with him. Don't push him to be better, or whatever, it could make it worse.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Can I take some of this home with me?” asked Liam unexpectedly, prompting both men to turn and look at him. He was smiling at Mickey with such an innocent hope in his eyes. Mickey was beginning to understand how Ian could sacrifice his freedom for this kid. He was so sweet, so gentle.

“Uhh, yeah, no problem,” agreed Mickey, as he made his way into the kitchen to seek out a tupperware container.

As he filled one with a couple bowls worth, Liam wandered into the kitchen with his empty bowl. He smiled again at Mickey as he rinsed it and set it in the sink. Mickey cleared his throat, his lips nervously twitched to the side, and he handed off the container to Liam.

“There's enough for both of ya.”

“Thanks, Mickey,” returned Liam as he turned to lead the way back to where his brother was waiting, as if this entire situation was normal.

Mickey settled in the archway of his kitchen, crossing his arms, as Liam and Lip put on their coats and gloves. Lip looked especially amused by the sight of the tupperware container, but didn't verbally tease Mickey about it.

“Alright, you need anything else just shoot me a text,” offered Lip.

Mickey nodded, hoping like hell that there wouldn't be anything else.

They both moved towards the door, but stopped when they reached it. Lip turned back and a quiet moment passed as he stared at Mickey with possibly the most honest expression he'd ever seen on the man's face.

“Hey, uh, thanks, Mickey. For taking care of him. There's a lot of people that wouldn't.”

Mickey's heart ached at the thought. He nodded his head, again, unsure of how to handle the gratitude, and watched both Gallaghers leave.

He slowly wandered back to his seat at the table. He considered that Ian might need a break from being bothered again, so he decided to have another beer. He fiddled with his phone a bit and endlessly considered if it would be okay if he just _laid_ with Ian.

Truthfully, he was feeling so much himself that he needed to just be by Ian. Even in his current state, Ian's presence was naturally soothing to Mickey.

After a breath of preparation Mickey stood with his pack of cigarettes in hand and returned to the bedroom. He hesitated as everything was still the same.

“Want a smoke?” questioned Mickey, tossing the pack onto his nightstand and dropping down onto his side of the bed. He turned enough to watch Ian, and resisted every urge that begged him to wrap his arms around him. He didn't know if that would be okay or not. He had felt clueless for half the day, really.

“No thanks,” answered Ian, finally, quietly.

Mickey pulled in a breath at the sound of his voice. And even as that was the end of their brief exchange, he didn't mind, as he found himself endlessly watching Ian, as if he would disappear the second he looked away.

He was pulled from this trance, though, a few minutes later when Ian rolled onto his other side towards Mickey, glancing at him with what was unmistakably shame. Mickey frowned, feeling strongly sympathetic that Ian would ever be embarrassed by his current state. Ian curled in tight to the top of the comforter, hiding his face.

Mickey shifted and laid on his back beside Ian. He let his hands settle on his tummy and looked up to the ceiling.

“I'm sorry,” whispered Ian.

Mickey turned his head to look at him for a moment, though Ian did not reciprocate his gaze. He was hiding in so many ways. Mickey returned his sights to the ceiling, and considered how many intimate things about Ian he not only knew, but had witnessed. He'd still kept himself so closed off from him. It was no wonder Ian could barely look at him now. Mickey had made himself seem like an unstoppable, impenetrable force.

“You're fine, Ian,” reassured Mickey, “You're not the only fucked up person in this room.”

Mickey reflected on a time when he had also been unable to move, unable to push through. Even if it had been years since, it still haunted him like it was only months ago.

“Wanna hear some shit I've never told anyone before?” questioned Mickey quietly.

A pause grew, but that was okay. It might be easier for Mickey to talk about it out loud in silence, as if he was totally alone.

“I almost offed myself once. I mean... I really fuckin' gave up. I was laying in a hospital bed all day just trying to figure out the easiest fuckin' way to do it. I even thought if I had to attack the nurse to get to pills I would. How fuckin' ridiculous is that shit?”

“What happened?” mumbled Ian.

Mickey's heart skipped roughly at tone of his voice, the curious lilt. He licked his lips, resisting the urge to look at Ian. His tongue was heavy and lazy as the answer drifted into his mind. This was another thing he'd never admitted out loud before, either.

“My dad, uh, tried to kill me.”

He heard the shuffle of Ian moving the comforter and caved, looking to him. Ian's eyes were still dimmed, lacking the liveliness they always otherwise held. But, he was looking at Mickey. _Really_ looking at him, for the first time all day.

Mickey had always avoided this subject before, even when Ian had bore his soul to him. But, watching Ian's attention shift to him, to anything other than what he was experiencing, was motivating enough for Mickey to finally talk about it.

But, first, Mickey moved up to a sitting position, so he could reach for the pack of cigarettes and ashtray on his nightstand. He was two hits into the cigarette, staring down into the ashtray, and nibbling his lip raw, when he finally began his confession.

“There was this dude that I fucked around with a few times back in the day. It was convenient, ya know. He was over at my place one day and...Everyone was supposed to be gone, so I got comfortable. I was really fuckin' stupid. My dad walked in on us and flipped shit.”

Mickey took in an extra long drag from his cigarette as the same old mix of disgust and fear filled his gut. No matter how far he had gotten from this memory, the scar would always remain. It would always be in a teetering state of almost healed.

“The kid ran out and didn't look back,” continued Mickey, “I wasn't so lucky. He beat me to hell, pointed a fuckin' gun at me, and called up this hooker.”

He heard Ian shuffling again, felt the bed move, but he really couldn't look at him now. He couldn't stand to. He flicked the ash from his cigarette with unnecessary force and tried to ignore the way his jaw was feeling tighter and tighter.

“The whole time he kept that gun on me and, you know, he made me...” Mickey paused, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He hated this; hated that this was a memory of his to share. And then Ian spoke.

“I'm sorry,” whispered Ian, so painfully soft and quiet.

Mickey resisted every aggressive urge he had to run, to change the subject, to take all this vulnerability back.

“So, anyhow, this bitch turns out to be pregnant,” Mickey pressed on, “Like I said before, it didn't turn out to be mine, but at first it was like a fuckin' out, ya know? My dad thought he'd fuckin' fixed me and shit. I rolled with it. He pressured me to marry her, like he knew that if he didn't lock me into a situation with a woman that I'd go right back to fuckin' dudes. And I went with it. I was just tryin' to survive, ya know. I had to. I...”

Mickey stopped again as he realized how heavily he was breathing now, how short his tone was getting, how he was trying so hard to explain his actions, as if he had done something wrong. This only summoned rage within him. He sat up more and set the ashtray on the bed in front of him. He shook his head a bit uncontrollably, trying hard not to chastise himself.

“A lot of people would've done the same thing, I think,” offered Ian quietly, clearly intercepting Mickey's unnecessary need to explain himself.

He nodded his head a few times, appreciating Ian's attempt, but currently unable to verbally acknowledge it.

“It was at the wedding—I was pacing around like a caged tiger, drinking myself stupid. I knew it wasn't right—knew that I was just my dad's stupid dancing monkey. And I was so pissed at myself for not being stronger. And then I thought, ya know, _fuck this_. I don't gotta be some out and proud queer, but I wasn't gonna fuckin' marry some whore just to stay in my dad's dumbass graces, either. So, I left. Went out the back door and there's my dad, my uncles, his friends, my sister—fuckin' almost everybody. They're all standing around getting' riled up for a party. I swear, I started seein' red, man. It was all at my expense. These fuckers are gettin' high and laughing, while I'm still actin' like a scared lil' boy, flinchin' at his dad's attacks.”

Mickey sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, as the memory was still wildly vivid in his mind. He could see them all look at him with grins, hear his uncle offering him blow, feel the sun on his face.

“I told 'em all the wedding was off. My dad was immediately ready to beat my ass. But, I was so fuckin' angry that I didn't even care. I looked him right in the eye as I said it loud enough for everyone to hear—that _I'm fuckin' gay_. Figured I say that shit in front of everybody, there would be no takin' that shit back, right?” Mickey spat out a sound of disbelief, shaking his head at himself. He sucked in a hit of nicotine and tried to hide his shaking hand from Ian's sight. “He charged me, slammed me into the building. We went at it for a while—I got in a few good hits—but, uh, he got the upper hand on me. Beat me to a pulp. I blacked the fuck out. Woke up in a hospital bed the next day, caked in pain. Like, I could barely even fuckin' lift an arm. My old man had beaten me a lot before, but never like that.

“And I thought, this is it. I can't ever go back. At first, I had figured we'd just beat the shit outta each other and then he'd get the fuck over it. But, he almost killed me. He'd actually _tried_...So, I thought I had no options. What was I supposed to fuckin' start over, be a shitty little criminal in a new city?” Mickey let out a humorless laugh. “I was tired, man. I had been fighting my whole life and I was just fucking _tired_.”

Ian's hand suddenly met Mickey's back, causing him to flinch just a bit. He was scared, embarrassed, but he finally looked at him. And Ian's expression was just as heartbreaking as he had anticipated.

“I'm glad you kept fighting, Mickey.”

Mickey looked away as his eyes abruptly burned. He anxiously chewed on his lip again, unable to lift his head anymore, or take a full breath.

“Can't believe you've made it to where you are,” added Ian, “You've come so far.”

The next part of the story entered Mickey's mind at that statement. And it helped to deflect the praise he really couldn't bring himself to face.

He let out a real laugh and spoke, “You'll never guess who got me on this path.”

Mickey moved his wet eyes to Ian, smiling a bit, and watched Ian tilt his head curiously.

“A fuckin' cop,” said Mickey, with another laugh. “He came in to try to get my statement. Told me Mandy was the one who called 911, and that my dad had been arrested. He was rattling on and on about pressing charges—how it was attempted murder, and with my dad's rap sheet, he'd actually do some real time for it—all that shit. I couldn't bring myself to give a shit about any of it, though. I was just fuckin' done...Then he starts talking about statistics, of all god damn things. How often he saw shit like that, how many kids were out on the street because of their homophobic parents, shit like that. And then he started on about what his husband Carlos went through. I guess his dad actually shot him and he almost died. That's how they met.”

Ian let out a soft laugh that was really nothing more than a quick exhale. “That's a hell of a story to tell the grandkids.”

Mickey uncontrollably smiled at that.

“No shit, right?” laughed Mickey. “So, this guy gives me a card for some counselor. He said the dude would help me get on my feet, which I thought was bullshit. But, he was right. I didn't call, of course, but he sent the counselor over to the hospital anyhow. That dude saw right through my bullshit, it was crazy. He found me a place to stay, got me to open up a bit, put up with all my anger and shit. He ended up helpin' me get my diploma and enrolled for the first course I took to learn code. I still can't believe it. It only took six months and I had a way to survive on my own—a start at a career. And it was all downhill from there.”

Mickey pulled in a breath that had him feeling the edge of all of his nerves. There was still so much fear in his gut that he would have to face everything he'd run from, regardless of how unlikely that was now. He was worried that fear would always remain—that he'd always feel like he was running.

“I never looked back,” added Mickey mindlessly, staring off at nothing in particular.

Silence fell in the room for several moments as they both seemed lost in their own heads, until Mickey's thoughts spilled over.

“It's fucked up, but I'm glad that asshole almost killed me. I may have thrown in the towel at first, but that's what really led to me being where I am now. Shit, I got the potential to make six figures before I'm even middle aged. I could have it all—all the shit I saw rich ungrateful pricks have on tv, and in magazines, and shit.” Mickey quirked a proud smile as he again looked at Ian. But, his heart sputtered as he suddenly had another thought, “And I might've never met your freckled ass.”

Mickey leaned into the vulnerability he felt, let his gaze turn soft and caring, as he added, “That alone is worth the beating of a lifetime.”

Ian didn't blink, didn't look away, as he stared at Mickey in return with that familiar devastatingly hopeful look growing on his face, until his eyes filled to the brim with tears. Mickey frowned and leaned down to press a kiss to Ian's forehead.

As he pulled away he found Ian's eyes closed, his expression wavering, and his brows scrunched tightly. As if he was so overwhelmed by those words he didn't know what to do.

Mickey really couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that he actually felt so much, so strongly, for someone who clearly mirrored it with the same magnitude. But, then, as the story he just told proved, his life was full of surprises. He was actually far more lucky than he'd thought in his first twenty years on earth.

 

**

Ian couldn't believe it. Mickey had been through so much, _so much_ , and had pushed through; had risen above it all. This only made Ian angrier that he was putting Mickey through anything. He deserved to never struggle again. He deserved to be with someone openly, freely. He deserved to be with someone that wasn't living a second life. He deserved to have a partner that would take on life with him. He deserved to never, ever feel alone or powerless again.

“I'm sorry I'm so worthless today,” spoke Ian tensely, opening his eyes to look at Mickey once more. “Hate to drag you into it.”

Mickey scowled in a familiar way.

“Don't even try to apologize for some shit you can't control.”

Ian frowned at him and shrugged, silently admitting he couldn't help it. It was just how he felt.

“Seriously, I'm glad you came here. My place has gotta be a hell of a lot better than going through this at John's.”

“Yeah. It does help having you here. It may not seem like it, but.”

Mickey gave him a soft smile and nodded. Ian wondered if he truly believed it.

A quiet moment passed and Mickey cleared his throat, making a move to get off the bed. Ian briefly considered that Mickey might be trying to run from the heaviness of their conversations. Maybe he had given what he could for now.

“Alright, well, hey, I'm gonna go get some food I made. You want anything?”

Ian shook his head, a brief glimmer of shame breached his gaze again, but Mickey quickly added, “S'cool, don't worry bout it.”

Ian wanted to thank him for being so patient and understanding, but his voice vanished again as he watched Mickey leave the room. Ian soaked in the silence that was left behind and reflected on the intimate story Mickey had just shared. He had so much he wanted to say, so much to ask. He couldn't believe Mickey had been raised by such a monster. Who, apparently, still to this day declared his son dead, instead of evolving and accepting how Mickey had risen above everything. Ian was certainly proud of him.

There was a flicker of life within him as he laid there thinking of the strength of Mickey and the admiration he felt for him. Ian considered how Mickey's words and actions of the entire day had been some sort of declaration to him and felt a need to cry for an entirely different reason than he'd felt all day. He felt truly cared for.

 

 

**

Mickey set his bowl of dumplings down on his nightstand and pulled out his laptop that he'd tucked under his arm. He took a moment to set it up towards the end of the bed, queuing up a movie, then got settled beside Ian once more.

“Cool if we watch a movie?”

Ian nodded, while he tilted his head more to look down at the laptop.

“Haven't watched the Indiana Jones movies in forever,” babbled Mickey as he scooped up a bite from his bowl. And upon eating that first bite he groaned in pleasure. “Whoa, this shit is good.”

He glanced down to Ian, who was looking up at him, now. Mickey widened his eyes in an exaggerated way.

“Might be a nice guy and save you some leftovers,” he teased.

“You should. Smells good,” commented Ian and Mickey smiled.

“Tried a new recipe with fresh herbs and shit. Liam liked it a lot,” said Mickey, unable to hide the pride from his tone, “Even asked to take some home with him.”

Ian smiled, and though it was only a half smile, in his current state Mickey felt like this was the normal equivalent to a glowing grin. And so Mickey smiled happily in return, before looking back to his food.

“Wanna try a bite?” offered Mickey cautiously, fully expecting to be rejected.

And yet, Ian propped himself up on one arm and nodded his head. Mickey had never felt so excited to share his food before. He passed the spoon to Ian and watched closely as the man gathered a chunk of a dumpling with chicken and broth. He was watching so closely as Ian chewed the bite, soon relishing the look of pleasure that crossed his face.

Ian's eyes shut and a soft pleased sound ghosted his lip. “Holy shit,” stated Ian.

Mickey beamed and told him to take another bite. And soon, they were passing the spoon back and forth, inhaling the contents of the bowl together, as if they did this sort of thing all the time. They were nearing the bottom, with only one large dumpling remaining, when Ian laid back down.

“Thanks,” he said, as he pulled the comforter up to his chest and returned his eyes to the movie.

Mickey smiled to himself and tried to focus on the movie, however it was a little difficult. He just wanted to give all of his attention to Ian. He wanted to bask in his presence.

“Okay,” said Mickey around a mouthful of food that he quickly swallowed before continuing, “What's the best Indiana Jones movie?”

There was a long pause in which he expected Ian not to say anything, but prepared to announce his opinion regardless.

“Raiders of the lost Ark,” murmured Ian, and Mickey grinned.

“Nah, the Last Crusade is where it's at,” countered Mickey, “It's fuckin' funny.”

“Raiders sets it all up and it's entertaining, too,” argued Ian, raising his gaze to Mickey, who smirked down at him.

“Raiders is second place. Crusade had so many call backs, his dad is funny, the villains are good. It's got it all.”

“Agree to disagree,” smiled Ian.

Mickey chuckled and uncontrollably reached a hand down to run his fingertips through Ian's hair. He watched the man close his eyes, as if Mickey's touch felt like heaven, and so he kept it up. He set his nearly empty bowl aside on the nightstand and focused his gaze on the laptop screen while he endlessly stroked Ian's hair.

He was reminded of christmas eve when Ian had fallen asleep on him. This was comforting to Mickey's very soul, and had him keeping a warm smile in place as they watched Indiana Jones discover that some times _X_ did in fact mark the spot.

 


	20. You Can't Plant Me in Your Penthouse

Ian awoke with a painful need to pee, so he reluctantly pulled himself away from Mickey's warm, smooth skin and slipped out of the bed. It was already time to take his meds, so he grabbed them from the nightstand and headed to the bathroom.

After going through his mostly typical morning routine, he got dressed and scooped up his phone, all the while observing Mickey still fast asleep. He smiled a bit to himself before leaving the room to head to the kitchen for much needed coffee.

His thoughts were racing with the entirety of the previous day, which had him unlocking his phone when he sat at the table—hoping for a distraction from processing everything that had happened. His eyes immediately met a text thread with John's name and he frowned. There was a text from only an hour ago.

 **John:** _You coming home today?_

Ian stared tiredly at the text thread for a while as he sipped from his cup of coffee. Jesus, John had really blown him up. So many missed calls, so many texts, and so many voicemails that he decided would be better not to listen to.

It was halfway through his mug of coffee that he decided to finally reply to John.

 **Ian:** _Yeah just give me a couple hours_

Not even a full minute had passed after sending that text when his phone lit up with an incoming phone call. Ian honestly debated on if he could even handle speaking to him or not, for four rings.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice weak from a lack of use.

He cleared his throat while John returned in an exasperated voice, “Hey, it's about time. Christ, it's like you forgot you had a husband.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Nice to talk to you, too,” he returned dryly.

“Whatever. How are you today?”

“Tired.”

There was a pause. “Tired? _Just_ tired? Didn't you sleep, like the last twenty-four hours?”

“That's not how it works.”

“Well, what happened?”

Ian rubbed his forehead, leaning forward on his arm on the table. How could he even begin to explain? How could he possibly make John understand?

“It's complicated,” breathed Ian, “Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes it just...gets to be too much. Sometimes I just need a break and my mind shuts down.”

John sighed unabashedly. “Jesus christ, Ian, what is so horrible about our life? What could you possibly need a break from? Do you know how many people would beg to be in your position?”

Ian immediately felt weighted down by those words. The voice in his head constantly spoke those very same questions to him—telling him to suck it up and stop whining. He was blessed, really. This conversation was the exact opposite thing he needed to help move forward.

Ian said nothing in return as he stood and headed for the coat rack. He fished around his pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes with the extra weight of a lighter inside. He pulled them out and narrowed his eyes at the white and green packaging. Menthol?

John made a noise into the phone as Ian remained silent in his confusedly distracted state.

“Alright,” spoke John, a little softer, “you're supposed to work tomorrow, correct?”

“Yeah,” answered Ian blandly as he sat at the table with the mysterious pack of cigarettes.

“Just don't go. I'll get a hold of Fredricks and let him know you had a medical emergency this weekend, that way you can go see your therapist. Does that sound good?”

He was a bit surprised by John's offer to do something kind, to the point of pausing in lighting one of the cigarettes he had placed between his lips. “Yeah,” he managed to squeeze out.

“Just get home and try to get better.”

Ian raised his brows as he pulled in a very harsh hit of the cigarette, his throat not expecting the extra hit and chill from the menthol. He carefully exhaled before continuing.

“I have classes starting on Tuesday, I was supposed to finish training the temp tomorrow.”

“It's fine,” dismissed John easily, “It's mostly filing and answering phones, if they can't figure that out then they shouldn't be there.”

“I guess that's true, I just feel bad.”

“Don't. Are you going to reach out to your therapist today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“Lip said he'd bring me home,” spoke Ian firmly, making an anxious wish that John wouldn't argue the subject.

There was a pause as John went quiet and Ian attempted to summon the strength to argue if needed. But, thankfully, and surprisingly, John caved.

“Okay. I'll see you soon?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

Ian hung up before John could find any other topics to exhaust. That could've gone worse, he thought.

 

 

**

Mickey stretched the moment he woke up, his muscles feeling tight and achy. It only a took a moment for his brain to scream out Ian's name, causing him to throw his head to the side to look for him. It was a genuine surprise to find the other side of the bed empty.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before summoning the will to get out of bed. He spotted Ian the moment he stepped into the hallway.

He was sitting at the end of the round dining room table, looking like a lump of tiredness. He was staring endlessly down at the table, his head resting on his hand, barely even propped up by his left elbow.

Mickey had made it to the end of the hallway before Ian noticed him, immediately pulling his head from his hand to turn his head and look at him. Mickey paused for a cautious moment, feeling out the situation. Ian's eyes looked different today. They were fully open, regardless of the redness to them, and he was looking at Mickey like he'd never seen anything more inspiring.

“Mornin',” said Mickey with a tired nod of his head.

“Morning, Mick,” returned Ian, his eyes shifting over him a bit.

Mickey sniffed and headed for his coffee machine. He leaned against the counter exhaustively as he waited, and sloppily poured his creamer into the mug once it was ready. And he actively focused on not tripping over his lazy feet as he made his way to the chair next to Ian.

After a few sips of the steaming liquid he returned his gaze to Ian and found the man still watching him, as if he was waiting for something. Mickey looked around Ian's tired face, from the darkness under his eyes to the scruffy red hair littering his jaw. He found himself smiling as he looked up to the fluffy hair atop his head that was standing up in all directions.

“Look at your fuckin' hair, man,” murmured Mickey in amusement as he reached a hand out to try to smooth it down. He chuckled when it simply popped right back up. Ian smiled bashfully at him and Mickey felt butterflies zip through his tummy at the sight. He brought his hand down to Ian's cheek and moved the back of his fingers against his facial hair, admittedly enjoying the sensory stimulation.

But, Ian's eyes were the real prize. They were sparkling at Mickey, like the usually did. He felt like it had been a month since he'd seen them that way. He gobbled up the beauty of them while pulling in a satisfactory breath. Mickey then found himself leaning in close enough to press a quick kiss to Ian's lips. He couldn't help himself.

Ian's face flushed even more and his smile spread wider as Mickey pulled away, happily taking in the view as he sat back and reached for his coffee.

“Fuckin' bullshit,” he grumbled into his mug with a slight shake of his head.

“What is?” asked Ian, his smile dimming.

“Even all messed up you still look good,” smirked Mickey.

Ian gave him the biggest smile he had yet, dropping his gaze to the table bashfully. His leg began to shake back and forth in wide movements as he returned, “Shut up.”

Mickey let out a sleepy laugh. His sights caught on the pack of cigarettes sitting in front of Ian. He raised both brows as he questioned, “You smoke menthol?”

“Fuck no,” returned Ian, sitting back in his chair and stretching his legs out below the table. “They were in my coat pocket for some reason. I don't remember trading with anyone, but...Smoke 'em if you got 'em, right?”

Mickey laughed, “That's the fuckin' truth.”

He eyed Ian again, wondering when it would be appropriate to ask how he was feeling. He was resisting that urge with all his might, afraid to upset the smooth sailing of their interactions.

“You get a buzz off of 'em?”

Ian's face split into another grin. “Yeah. Guess that's one bonus to not having the desire to smoke for twenty-four hours, huh?”

“Wouldn't know,” returned Mickey jokingly, his own smile spreading far.

Ian laughed and again looked at Mickey like he was the warm sun in his sky. It did things to Mickey's tummy, being looked at like that by Ian. He couldn't believe just how unbelievable happy he felt just having an easy conversation with Ian like this.

“You been up long?” inquired Mickey.

“A little while, I guess,” shrugged Ian. “Just talked to my therapist. I'm meeting her tomorrow morning.”

“That's good, that's really good,” nodded Mickey, luring Ian's gaze back to him.

The corners of his lips lifted a bit, but his eyes were shrouded over in a hazy way.

“We'll see. She might up my dosage, which would make school feel impossible this week.”

“Your health's more important, man.”

Ian's jaw visibly tightened. “Well, if I fuck up with school, then what the hell is the point of all this?”

Mickey didn't know what to say, at first. He stared at Ian, who was back to not looking at him again. Obviously those words were a heavy thought that Ian had been keeping locked up, and now that he had expelled them he looked nauseated by their truth.

“Liam,” returned Mickey confidently, “You did all this to keep your brother safe and happy, right?”

“You're right,” returned Ian quietly. He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair more before admitting, “Sometimes I forget the risk he was under. Feels like it's been a decade since then.”

“Livin' a lie does that to you.”

Ian fidgeted, still not looking at Mickey, and returned, “Yeah, uh, can we just not talk about that?”

For just a moment, Mickey wanted to push on with the conversation, but he understood that they were on limited time and Ian still seemed a bit unsteady.

“You hungry?”

“A bit,” nodded Ian, glancing over at Mickey.

Mickey sipped from his coffee and nodded, before returning, “I'll make some food in a minute.”

A quiet settled in, but it wasn't unbearable. And watching Ian go on to stretch his long limbs, his torso twisting a bit, was not something Mickey would complain about.

“I need a fucking shower,” groaned Ian in conclusion.

“I've got a shower,” returned Mickey with a half-laugh. “Go take one.”

“I hate getting back into dirty clothes after a shower.”

“That a round about way of asking if you can borrow some of my clothes?”

“No,” chuckled Ian, “Just saying I'm going to shower as soon as I get home.”

Home. That had never felt right, knowing he was referring to John's, but for some reason now it felt even more wrong. It was just the place Ian was staying for now, it could never be a home, Mickey was sure of it.

“Nah, fuck that,” said Mickey while standing, “C'mon, man, I'll find ya something to wear.”

Ian beamed at Mickey, which had Mickey smiling to himself as he led the way down the hallway.

“Pretty sure all my sweats drag on the floor, so your spider legs can for sure fit in 'em.”

“Shut the fuck up,” laughed Ian, while they entered Mickey's room.

Mickey chuckled and pulled out the third drawer of his dresser. His eyes landed on his softest pair of cotton sweats—his favorites. He pulled them out and handed them off to Ian before opening his underwear drawer. He didn't really have a favorite pair of boxers, so he handed off the first pair he grabbed. And then he opened his t-shirt drawer, and for a moment considered giving Ian his smallest shirt. He even glanced over at Ian, trying to imagine it.

“What?”

“Nothin',” shrugged Mickey, uncontrollably smiling in the process.

He opted for a plain blue tee and handed it off before opening his smallest drawer to grab a pair of socks for him. Ian was smiling at the pile of clothes like they were the greatest gift; like Mickey had given him a pile of gold.

“Feel free to use whatever shit's in the shower,” offered Mickey with a nervous wave of his hand.

“Thanks, Mick,” beamed Ian.

Mickey felt he would be happily crushed under that bright gaze. His ears warmed and he nervously nodded, before headed towards the hall. Ian caught his arm, however, keeping him from leaving. Mickey turned enough, just in time, to receive a warm, incredibly gentle, kiss on the lips.

His stomach did an aggressive somersault as Ian pulled away enough to look him in the eye.

“Seriously, thank you.”

Mickey nodded, his lips twitching to the side. He took a breath and leaned into the moment, letting his expression turn soft. Ian smiled a little wider and Mickey let out an uncontrolled, slightly ecstatic, laugh.

“Alright, I'm gonna go make us some grub. Enjoy your shower.”

 

*

When Ian returned Mickey was busy plating the bacon, fried eggs, and toast. But, he still managed to sneak a peek or two at Ian's glowingly clean skin and the wet hair he was raking his fingers through. He was profoundly missing their physical exchanges, he realized. On a level deeper than just getting off. He could do that on his own, after all. He missed the bottomless, otherworldly, feeling he got when they touched one another; wordlessly spoke to each other.

Ian was smiling as he approached, his voice a little deeper than usual when he spoke.

“Breakfast for lunch?”

“It's breakfast whenever we say it's breakfast,” retorted Mickey, “Doesn't matter what time it is.”

“Well, it looks good, thanks.”

“I hope you like your eggs a little runny.”

“Hell yeah,” sang Ian as he carefully snatched away the plate that was already full.

Was it extra satisfying on this morning for Mickey to watch Ian inhale the entire plate of food? Without a doubt. He was moaning and sending Mickey smiles while he did, as if he couldn't be more pleased by the simple breakfast. Mickey shook his head, smiling to himself, so many times.

Their conversation stayed light and flirty, as they passed the time leisurely at the table. It was familiar and normal. But, really they were just dancing around everything. They weren't speaking on anything of the previous day, and they weren't talking about the timer that was counting down above them. They were just enjoying each other's company, with equal sparkling gazes and caring smiles.

It perhaps made it hurt that much more when Ian reluctantly spoke, “I should probably get going.”

Mickey frowned the entire time he watched Ian order a lyft through his phone. His leg was anxiously bouncing and he reached for a cigarette to calm his unhappy nerves.

“You sure?” he blurted quietly after a moment.

Ian looked to him, his expression open and curious. Mickey felt his own face give way to sympathy and hurt. Ian reached a hand out, presenting it on the table to Mickey, who looked away as he placed his own in it.

“I've gotta face my week, Mick. Starting with my therapist in the morning. I don't really feel like I've got a choice right now. It is what it is.”

Mickey scowled, trying to keep his focus on their interlocked hands, and the way Ian's thumb was so gently touching him.

“You've always got a choice, Ian.”

“It's not so easy.”

“It's still _your_ fuckin' choice to make.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey finally returned his eyes to Ian and frowned when he found him looking entirely broken again. He felt aware of the fact that Ian already knew what he'd just said, and that maybe it wasn't what he wanted to hear in these last minutes they had together. But, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to fight for Ian in the way that Ian couldn't fight for himself.

“I should head down,” announced Ian, “My ride'll be here soon.”

His hand slipped away from Mickey's, and there was a fog entering the air that suffocated any of the ease and joy Mickey had been feeling. He stood with Ian, who was nothing more than a tense shape as he made his way to put his coat on.

Mickey joined him near the door as he finish putting on his shoes, unsure of what to say. He just knew he couldn't let him leave with this stress.

“Hey, c'mere,” whispered Mickey, reaching a hand out to Ian's arm.

The redhead turned and Mickey opened his arms in invitation, even pulling him in with a coasting motion. His heart rate spiked as Ian moved right into those welcoming arms like they were the home he had been searching for.

Protectiveness surged through Mickey as he wrapped Ian up tightly, stroking the back of his head. He released a breath of relief and closed his eyes as Ian set his head on his shoulder, burying his face into the nape of his neck. They swayed a bit, letting time do whatever it wanted as they seemed to equally settle into staying this way forever.

“I really don't wanna go,” admitted Ian quietly, “I don't want to leave you.”

Mickey missed the happy, flirty, reckless Ian that he had been drawn to all these months. He missed the easiness of their time normally spent together. But, he knew this side of Ian was just as real as that other, and he accepted it with literal open arms. Both versions of him were so important to Mickey and he wanted it all, regardless of the struggle with the second.

He pulled away a bit, until Ian was lifting his head to look at him. Mickey brought a hand forward to fondly caress his stubbly cheek. He smiled just a bit as he captured Ian's gaze with his own.

“Hey, it's cool, Ian,” he spoke gently, “You're way fuckin' stronger than all of it.”

Ian visibly pulled in a long breath and then he was closing his eyes and leaning in, setting his forehead against Mickey's. Mickey moved his affectionate hand to stroke the back of Ian's neck again.

“Thanks for understanding, Mickey,” said Ian, his hot breath tickling Mickey's lips in the process.

And Mickey felt too much, he was overloaded and needed a release, so he caved and tilted his head to press his lips to Ian's.

Ian's stance was solid stone, but he kissed Mickey in return. _Fuck, did he kiss him_. As if both of their lives depended on it, they sucked strongly, moved their lips firmly, deepened the kiss as much as they could.

It was both comforting and exhilarating, being reminded of the endless passion that simmered between them. Mickey had never known before Ian that the mingling of lips, tongues, and teeth could make his entire body feel like it was drowning in warm silk.

As he felt the hairs on his arms lifting and hot desire beginning to pool in his core, he pulled his lips away, but kept Ian's face close with his hand locked on the back of his neck, still pulling for more.

“Do what you gotta do, Gallagher, alright?” breathed Mickey, “My ass'll be here waitin' for ya.”

Ian's fingers dug deeper into Mickey, they swayed as he pressed in harder to him, and then he was kissing Mickey again. Pulling Mickey deep into him; summoning his heart to his hand.

They both were sharing burning touches as they dragged their lips and tongues across one another, again. It was intense, so wildly intense. Mickey felt himself at once both consumed and filled.

They were both panting as they separated, their eyes blown out in matching ways as they looked to one another. Between them the truth was palpable: neither one of them wanted to stop, or wanted him to go. This thing between them was the realest, deepest, thing in both of their existence. And they still had so much of it to explore.

Mickey bit down on his bottom lip and moved back, however his eyes didn't leave Ian for a second. Not even as he left the apartment, with his own gaze set on Mickey over his shoulder.

**

Ian had felt rejuvenated during his time spent with Mickey. He even felt borderline normal.

But, the second he walked into the condo, all those good feelings vanished. All his energy, and fight, ran off. He frowned as he closed the front door behind him and headed for the coat closet. His mind was on nothing but the desire for pillows and blankets. So, it was extra irritating when he heard John's voice from the hall.

“Hey, you're back,” smiled John from just outside of the closet.

Ian glanced at him, but just the sight of the man made Ian feel weaker. He stepped around him as he exited the closet and shut the door.

“I was worried about you.”

Ian actually believed him. But, he still didn't care. John's feelings were truly the last thing on his mind. Ian simply nodded in reply, rubbing at his face.

“I'm tired,” spoke Ian, “I'm going to sleep in the guest room.”

“Why?”

Ian couldn't even begin to summon strength to get into any of that now. Instead, he just repeated himself, “I'm tired.”

He turned and headed for the hall that led to the extra rooms, and unfortunately heard John following him.

“Where's your brother? Doesn't he have school in the morning?”

“Lip's taking him.”

“Doesn't he have work?”

“He's going in late,” sighed Ian.

He felt like John was a flea, bouncing around him, draining his blood. He tried not to sigh again as he reached the guest room and John was still behind him. He turned in the doorway and frowned at him.

“Okay, well...Can I get you anything?” questioned John awkwardly. “You hungry?”

“Just want sleep.”

Ian said nothing more and shut the bedroom door behind him before John could say anything else or follow him in.

As he looked around the quiet room he released a breath of relief. He practically dove into the untouched bed, his body vibrating at the comfort that flooded him. And as he curled up with the fluffy comforter, he realized that the clothes he wore still smelled of Mickey.

He uncontrollably smiled happily and fell into the fantasy that he was just still in Mickey's bed, surrounded by his soothing scent and protective care.

*

After a few experiences in the past, Ian knew how lucky he was to have Marcy as a therapist. She was just one of the many things he wouldn't be able to afford anymore if he left John. But, therapy might not be so needed if he left John, he reminded himself.

He had left out many things, such as being paid for sex and the general sugar-daddy arrangement he had with John, but she knew he was only married to John to keep Liam close and finish out school comfortably. She knew of their lack of relationship. And she also knew of Mickey, after their last session.

Ian danced around some details as he explained the weekend to her. He left out Nate offering him money and opted for just saying that John wanted to have a three-way that he was not comfortable with. He told her of what had happened at Mickey's, and how he had handled it all, which she praised. He told her how he had felt returning to the condo the night before, which garnered a frown and a scribble to her notepad.

“You seem to want to leave John more and more each session we have,” noted Marcy, “This has escalated from frustrating to unbearable for you?”

“I guess,” answered Ian, stretching a leg out further in front of the maroon lounge chair he sat.

“And why do you continue to stay?”

He nearly rolled his eyes, feeling easily annoyed at having to repeat himself on the subject so often.

“I want Liam to get a good education, use all of the resources he currently has, and I want to get my degree without any added stress.”

“And living a way you don't like isn't stressful?”

He stared at her for a moment, knowing she was purposefully pushing his buttons; knowing exactly where she was going with this. “I know all of that. _Believe me_. I meant without the financial stress. Without the stress of commuting. Without the stress of overworking and exhausting myself just to get through school.”

She nodded, her lips forming a tight, thin line. He quietly sighed as he watched her lean forward towards him, her gaze unflinching.

“Ian, I need you to hear this, okay? The life you are currently living is _incredibly_ risky to your mental health. This will only get worse if you do not make changes that decrease your stress and get you back into a healthy routine. You need to put yourself first.”

A flash of irritation went through him, causing him to shake his head and look away from her.

“You know, how is that possible? _Life_ is fucking stressful.”

She frowned a bit and seemed to nod reluctantly.

“You have kids, don't you?” questioned Ian.

“Correct.”

“How do you put yourself first? When you have people depending on your ability, how do _you_ put yourself first?”

“We have a balanced dynamic in my home. My husband and I share the responsibilities.”

“That's great, but I don't have that.”

“What about your other siblings? I'm sure they would be more than happy to help out more.”

“They have enough going on, as is. The least I can do is push through all of this, right? It's not forever, it's just another nine months, or so.”

“Ian,” she took on a tone that was soft and extra engaging, “That may be too much for you. Even if you survive through it, are you actually going to be able to juggle everything, without dropping _some_ things?”

“If I didn't have this...If I wasn't sick then I would have no problem doing it. It's not fair. It's still controlling everything. It's always going to.”

“You still have control. You're the one who has the control to make decisions that keep your body and mind in a healthy place. Coming here was a controlled decision to not let this take over your mind, right?”

Ian looked away from her again as he had no argument.

“The sad truth about humans is that if we're accustomed to bad things happening, then we will just suffer until something forces a change on us. But, in all reality, some times we can make the change our self. Do you see what I'm saying?”

All too well he understood. So many people from his shitty neighborhood growing up gave up very early on in life for this very reason.

“Fear is the ultimate paralyzer. You need to push back on it to get free. The restraints you have on yourself, right now, are only getting tighter the longer you ignore your limits. You need to find the strength to ask for more help, because you do deserve it, Ian.”

Those words followed Ian long after he'd left her office. He tried to search himself for the right compromise—for a way to give himself just a little more breathing room without making massive changes at such a pivotal moment in his education process.

**

Mickey felt like he'd had the longest Monday, ever. And there was still two hours remaining of his work day. He found his thoughts hazy and his body aching for caffeine, but before he could make his way to the break room, his phone buzzed.

 **Ian:** _How's your day going?_

 **Mickey:** _Draggin real bad. Hbu?_

 **Ian:** _At least you're almost done right? Mine's been fine. Therapy went ok and I took a nap lol_

Mickey could hardly contain his curiosity over Ian's therapy. He disregarded the first part as he replied.

 **Mickey:** _Just ok? Did she up your meds?_

 **Ian:** _Nah she just increased my sessions and said she'd monitor me for now._

 **Mickey:** _That's probably for the best right_

 **Ian:** _Yeah probably lol [tongue-face emoji]_

Mickey smiled and set his phone aside so he could get that caffeine his body was begging for. At least he could text with Ian for the remaining time to help keep him awake.

“Hey, Mick,” called out Damon quickly, causing Mickey to stop and look over his shoulder. “Get me a redbull, would ya?”

Mickey nodded exhaustively and waved his hand in dismissal at the money Damon held up. He continued on towards the break room.

If there was one thing that didn't suck about working in this place, it was the vending machine full of energy drinks. Even if the machine did spit Mickey's five dollar bill back out at him.

He sighed and stretched it across the corner of the machine, moving it back and forth in attempt to straighten it more. Someone entered the brightly lit room and Mickey instinctively looked over his shoulder.

The guy eyed Mickey as he made his way to the counter where the coffee machine and a box of donuts sat. Mickey didn't recognize him, and thus assumed he was some sort of customer or something, so he resisted rolling his eyes at the amused expression the stranger seemed to have over Mickey.

“Interesting tats, bro,” the stranger spoke.

“Yeah, thanks,” murmured Mickey, as he again tried to feed his money to the vending machine. This time it took it.

“What do they say?” inquired the stranger.

Mickey sighed as the machine dropped the first redbull. He scooped it out and fed the change back into the machine to get another redbull, choosing to just pretend he hadn't heard the man.

“Good talk,” said the stranger sarcastically, with a sound of disbelief following.

“Excuse me?” piped a different voice from the doorway, luring both sets of eyes to the petite woman wearing a wary smile. Elizabeth, John's receptionist. “You're Nate, right?”

“Yep,” chirped the stranger.

Mickey's heart beat roughly before taking off to a higher speed. Nate? _Thee Nate?_

“Mr. Woods is out of his meeting, now," continued Elizabeth, "He told me to let you know he'll be in his office.”

“Cool. Tell him I'll be there in a minute,” returned Nate, as his gaze went to the box of donuts that he had opened to examine.

Ian had never told Mickey what this Nate guy had done, but he knew from John's texts that it was something warranting an apology and a _he'll never do it again_. That's all the information Mickey needed to find his breathing shallow and his adrenaline rushing. Ian's disheveled appearance from the weekend flashed in his mind as he held himself back from getting in the man's face.

“Hey, you know how old this coffee is?” questioned Nate unexpectedly.

It took Mickey's vision a moment to clear before he could see that Nate was looking at him. Mickey's eyes flickered down to where Nate had a donut sitting out on a napkin and paper cup waiting to be filled with coffee.

“Uhhh, hello?” said Nate confusedly with an obnoxious wave of his hand.

Mickey wanted to throw the coffee in his face—maybe even break the glass carafe over his head. But, instead, he nodded his head and plastered a phony smile on his face.

“Sorry, long day,” returned Mickey as he made his way over to the counter. He set the two cans of redbull down and continued, “It's prolly as old as those fuckin' donuts. You'd be better off going somewhere else.”

“Well, I'm here to visit _your boss_ , so,” said Nate with an unnecessarily annoyed look.

Mickey simply smiled a little wider and returned, “How bout I find out for you, huh?”

He snatched up the donut Nate had chosen and had waiting on the napkin. He looked Nate in the eye as he took a large bite, watching as Nate's mouth fell open in surprise.

“Mmm, this one's pretty good, actually,” smirked Mickey around his mouthful of pastry, “Bet the rest are stale, though. Lemme take care of that for you.”

Mickey picked up the box of donuts and walked it to the other side of the room to dump them all into the trashcan. He went as far as tossing the rest that was in his hand in there, as well.

“There we go,” sang Mickey lowly.

“What the hell, man?” exclaimed Nate, “Why did you do that?”

“Don't want the boss's friend eatin' crap,” shrugged Mickey as he turned to face Nate, again, wiping his lips clean. “Oh, right, the coffee.”

Mickey strolled back to the counter, secretly relishing the confused and shocked expression on the guy's face. He scooped up the hot carafe and moved down to the small sink below the set of two floating cabinets. He returned his gaze to Nate as he tipped the carafe and dumped the hot liquid down the sink drain.

“That shit's _really_ old, you don't want that,” smiled Mickey.

“You got a problem with me, asshole?” questioned Nate, comically squaring his shoulders.

Mickey laughed as he returned the carafe to the hot plate that sizzled at the contact of the empty glass.

“I don't even fuckin' know you,” returned Mickey with raised brows, turning to face Nate closely, “Why would I have a problem with you?”

“You just threw away everything that I wanted.”

“For your own good,” countered Mickey smoothly, “I just think it'd be better if you took your interests elsewhere.”

Mickey met Nate's angry stare head on, hoping and wishing for the douche to just throw one punch, so he could get away with kicking his ass without repercussions. He pushed it even further as he then reached out to give Nate a hard pat on the top of his arm, which Nate aggressively shrugged away.

“Whoa, take a breath, chief,” chuckled Mickey, “There's other donuts in the sea.”

He turned and scooped up his two cans of redbull before heading back towards the main room. Mickey did, however, pause in the doorway to look back at Nate over his shoulder. His cheeks were puffed up angrily, like he was hiding an avocado in his mouth. Mickey snorted in amusement and sent him a wink before walking away, with an extra strut to his step.

“Here you go,” he sang as he held out one can to Damon.

“Thanks,” returned Damon as he accepted it, “Took ya a minute.”

“Yeah, there was a fuckhead in the break room. Had to help him figure out his options.”

Damon furrowed his brow in confusion and Mickey simply smiled with a shake of his head. He dropped back into his seat and regretted not just laying into the curly haired idiot. Maybe their paths would cross again, someday. He kind of hoped so.

It wasn't even an hour later when he heard the voice of nails on a chalkboard speaking his name. He stuffed away his initial frown and pivoted his chair to look at John.

He had a blonde brow raised, his jaw set tight, and his arms crossed.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Uhh,” Mickey glanced around innocently, “No, Sir.”

“Then why are you picking fights with people in the break room?”

Mickey licked the corner of his lips to resist smiling. Bunch of whiny little kids.

“I'm not sure I know what you're referring to, Sir. I've been here, working.”

“Cut the crap,” snapped John, moving in closer to drop his voice. “Why did you act that way towards Nate?”

“Who's Nate? We don't have a Nate working here.”

John visibly pulled in a deep breath and leaned on the divider between Mickey and Amy, moving in dangerously close to Mickey's personal space.

“He told me you threw away the donuts and coffee he was trying to get. Like some middle school bully.”

Mickey took a calming pause, fighting back a hysterical laugh that bubbled up his throat. He swallowed it down deep.

“Oh, that guy?” smiled Mickey, “I was just helping him out.”

“I'm sorry?” returned John with obvious disbelief flickering his expression.

“Yeah, the donuts and coffee were super old. I told him the boss's friend deserved better.”

John looked genuinely dumbfounded, and seemed unsure of how to proceed for a moment. Until he stood up straight and barked, “Ellison!”

Mickey looked past him to his supervisor, who instantly stood, as if frightened out of his chair. He wiped his tired eyes below the thin framed glasses on his face as he made his way over.

“Yes, Sir? What's going on?” inquired Ellison, with a wary look for Mickey.

“Milkovich will be written up—“

“For what?” spat Mickey, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Throwing out food that went bad in the break room?”

John seemed to clench his jaw as he eyed Mickey, undoubtedly knowing full well how ridiculous that would be to write into paperwork. Human resources would probably laugh at it.

Ellison looked entirely confused as his eyes bounced back and forth between them.

“For instigating a fight in the break room,” countered John.

“Excuse me, but I was nothing but cordial to your friend. He was the one who called me an asshole.”

John looked like he was filling with hot air—like he was literally going to explode.

“Alright, here's what's going to happen,” said John boisterously, but turning his attention to Ellison, who seemed to tense. “Your team will be working an extra hour today.”

Mickey heard Amy groan dramatically, and so did John as he turned to look at her with a less than kind smile.

“Courtesy of Mr. Milkovich. You can thank him.”

As John looked at Mickey then, he actually seemed to be a little proud of himself. But, so was Mickey, so he simply smiled sardonically in return. John's expression gradually fell before he rolled his eyes and stormed away.

He'd barely slammed the door to his office behind him before Amy and Damon stood with wild-eyed looks for Mickey.

“Mickey, what the hell?” spat Damon through a whisper.

“What did you do now?” questioned Amy.

Mickey simply held up a hand and returned, “It was worth it, believe me. And yet not nearly satisfying enough.”

“That's great,” huffed Amy, “I'll be thinking about that the entire extra hour I work.”

“Keep your fuckin' pants on. It's just _one_ extra hour.”

“Mickey, you really need to stop getting on his bad side,” chastised Ellison tiredly.

“He's a dickhead, kinda hard not to,” refuted Mickey irritably, “The only thing I regret is throwing away perfectly good donuts.”

Ellison shook his head several times before reaching up to rub his forehead irritably while he turned to walk back to his desk.

 

 

**

Ian was antsy. He couldn't stop fidgeting even during dinner with Liam, who certainly noticed and questioned him. Ian glanced at him, from where he sat beside him in the kitchen at the breakfast bar. He drew a breath through the large mouthful of pasta he was attempting to distract himself with.

Liam gave him a bit of an impatient look, so Ian chewed faster and forcefully swallowed.

He cleared his throat before vaguely explaining, “I'm going to have a talk with John when he gets home.”

“About what?” inquired Liam, who was the contrasting calm to Ian's nervous energy.

“Something I know he's not going to like.”

“Are you going to leave him?”

Ian let out a nervous laugh and smiled at Liam, “I would tell you to pack up your stuff if that was happening.”

“Well, what's the talk about then?”

“Boundaries.”

Liam eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before simply nodding his head and returning his attention to his take-out tin of fettuccine alfredo. Ian on the other hand could not continue his meal. He put his leftovers away and headed out to the balcony for a cigarette. Or two.

As he paced around the balcony he endlessly replayed his therapy session in his mind, occasionally looking out to the dark, busy city around him. He wanted to call Mickey, but knew John would be home any minute.

Still, Mickey was a stabilizing person, and personal motivation. He didn't give it another thought as he pulled out his phone, but thankfully didn't make it any further as the balcony door abruptly opened. John peered out at him and Ian froze.

“What're you doing?” questioned John.

Ian slowly raised the cigarette in his right hand, grimacing at John's dumb question.

John nodded and let out an audible sigh. “I'm going to take a shower,” he announced before departing as quickly as he had arrived.

Ian felt his resolve still within him. His disdain for the man fueling him to make a move, now.

He quickly put out his cigarette and moved after John, all the way into the master bedroom. He closed the door behind him just as John stepped out of his walk-in closet.

“How was therapy?” asked John distractedly as his focus was set on removing his tie.

“Good,” answered Ian, “She wants me in once a week, now, though.”

John nodded, still hardly showing an ounce of interest, while he removed his belt and returned to the closet to hang it up.

“Are you alright?” asked Ian, almost amused at the pitiful demeanor John seemed to be sporting.

“Fine,” drawled John irritably. “Just had a long day. Aaron's conveniently going to be visiting during our next presentation to Future Sun. Dad said it's not to supervise and he had nothing to do with it, but obviously he wants Aaron to check in on things.”

“Why? Aaron's not even involved in the company.”

“Yet Dad suggested I bring him into work and introduce him to Albert,” spat John as he reappeared with his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. He rolled his eyes dramatically and continued, “He went on and on about Aaron's success in managing the pathetic start-up he's involved in and how much his clients adore him. He actually said that Aaron could maybe give me some pointers.”

John scoffed loudly and Ian tried to think of how to swing the conversation to the direction he wanted. He already knew that John wasn't going to like what he had to say, and now knowing he was in a bad mood he could assume there was a chance of John exploding.

“Well, hopefully Aaron will see how well you're doing and report that back to your dad.”

“I seriously doubt it. You know, I swear he's trying to worm his way into taking over. He had his chance and he passed it up, it should be that simple.”

“Your dad's not just going to hand it over to Aaron without a reason,” argued Ian carefully.

John frowned, but nodded his head in agreement.

“Just do the best job you can, so neither one of them can say anything,” suggested Ian with a shrug.

“Yeah, that can be difficult with insubordinate employees like Milkovich. I swear, he was trying so hard to push my buttons today, of all days.”

Ian's heart jumped excitedly at the sound of Mickey's name. He tried not to sound too curious, or too eager, as he questioned, “What'd Mic—What'd he do?”

John ran a hand through his soft hair and leaned on the dresser beside the closet.

“Tried to pick a fight with Nate, then acted all innocent after. I swear he's a fucking petulant child.”

A hundred questions zipped through Ian's mind. His heart was racing, now. And he had a burning desire to go back out to the balcony and call Mickey for the details.

“Why was Nate there?” asked Ian, still doing his best to sound calm and only half-interested.

“He stopped in to see me,” explained John with a cautious look that said he knew this was insulting to Ian. “Anyhow, apparently Milkovich pissed him off. He was instigating a fight—but, the brat did it in a way where I couldn't even properly punish him without looking like an idiot. He's so damn smug, I could slap him.”

Ian fought and fought and fought the need to smile. He couldn't even think of a single thing to say that wouldn't just be a form of praise for Mickey. So, he swallowed his amusement and just nodded his head.

Even without calling him, Mickey still found a way to give Ian a boost of confidence and certainty.

“Well, I know you want to shower—and that you're not exactly in the best mood—but, I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” questioned John quickly with a tone of wavering menace.

Ian didn't let it get to him, however. He even met his gaze head on.

“Well,” breathed Ian, “I need to set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” repeated John with immediate exhaustion stirring in his expression.

“Yeah. I don't want any sort of physical relationship with you, anymore. No more _bonuses_.”

John's mouth with hanging open, and it seemed amazingly Ian had left him speechless. He hoped it didn't show when he released a shaky breath doused in adrenaline.

“We'll continue our main arrangement—I'll still be your obsessed and doting husband for the public eye—but, I think it's in my best interest to stop everything else.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Why is it in your best interest?”

“It's not healthy for me, John,” spoke Ian firmly, “My therapist is worried that my mental health will get worse if I don't make some changes. So, I'm making changes.”

“You mean, giving up on me.”

“Most everything will still be the same,” countered Ian with a touch of impatience. “I'll go to as many business dinners, parties, meetings, family events—keeping up appearances in general—but, as for anything between us behind closed doors, I'm done. No more sex, no more kissing me, no more expecting me to do whatever you want at the snap of your fingers. And I'll be sleeping in the guest room from here on. Understand?”

“No, I really don't. Why are you suddenly so repulsed by me? I haven't changed, at all.”

“Well, I have,” shrugged Ian, lacing his hands together behind his back.

“What, are you saying that having sex with me is what caused your mental breakdown?”

Ian sighed. “No. My view of myself is what caused it. I can't treat myself like don't deserve to say no. Like I don't deserve to find another way to afford things. You always bring up what I was doing for money when we first met, but leave out the point that I'm still doing that, just in _your bed_.”

John looked genuinely insulted as he listened, and ultimately looked hurt at the conclusion.

“Don't worry, no one outside of this condo is going to know anything has changed. You'll just have to buy your intimacy elsewhere.”

Ian swore he saw actual flames in John's eyes, and fought down a smug smile as he knew his words were hurtful enough. He didn't want to push it too far.

“Anyhow, that's all I had to say,” breathed Ian as he casually turned to leave the room.

He had a feeling that John would try to find a way to attack, to hurt him, but he was ready for a fight. He could argue this all day. He knew without a doubt that his boundaries were not unreasonable and they were what was best for him.

“Yeah, okay, I'll just wait,” spat John just as Ian had turned the handle to open the door, “The first financial hurdle will have you crawling right back into my bed, begging for money.”

Ian slowly turned, his brows raised high, and his expression pure disbelief. At first, he was angry that anyone thought of him as so weak. But, then it dawned on him that there had been a dynamic shift. John wasn't even confident of what he just said, he was trying to convince _himself_ of it.

Ian smiled at him as he felt power restoring to his very core. He then let out a laugh and as he opened the door to leave he said, “Not likely.”

 


	21. I Can't Believe Life's so Complex When I Just Wanna Sit Here & Watch You Undress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short update that's mostly a fun break away from the serious stuff (with a TINY peek into what's going on with John) so I hope it's somewhat rewarding enough for all the patience and encouragements you guys have had and given me <3

Ian couldn't stop smiling.

He was swarming with something he hadn't felt in so long— _pride_. He was so proud of himself for taking a bit of control back.

He smiled as he said goodnight to Liam, he smiled as he took a shower and got ready for bed, he smiled while he shut the guest room door behind him, he even smiled as he read over the prep-work for his in-room class that would start tomorrow.

It was around 10 p.m. when he casually strolled through the kitchen, pretending he was just getting a bottle of water, but actually checking to confirm John had gone to bed. He returned to the guest room and locked the bedroom door behind him, turned on the large television that hung on the wall opposite of the bed, and dialed Mickey's number.

He adjusted the volume on the television, in hopes that it was loud enough to drown out his own voice, but quiet enough to hear Mickey. He'd just put one of the big down pillows between his back and the headboard when Mickey answered.

“Hey,” he said, sounding a bit surprised.

Ian smiled even wider than he had yet.

“Hey, Mick,” returned Ian, “What you up to?”

“Just watchin' tv and reviewing some shit for work. How bout you? Freezing your ass off on the balcony?”

Ian snorted. “Nah, I'm in the guest room and everyone's asleep, so.”

“Sleepin' in the guest room again? Tired of the couch?” teased Mickey.

Ian let out a happy laugh and replied, “Yeah. No more couch.”

“Sound pretty giddy about that,” chuckled Mickey.

“I had a good talk with John earlier.”

Mickey huffed into the phone and seemed to pause for a moment.

“Didn't know that was fuckin' possible,” stated Mickey, his tone lower with an edge that sang to Ian's core.

He snickered. “Me neither,” returned Ian in amusement. “I put my foot down with him. Told him no more sex, or kissing, or anything behind closed doors. I'm just going to be his trophy from here on, that's it.”

“Wait...” Mickey paused and Ian heard rustling through the receiver, as if maybe Mickey had sat up. “You told him that?”

“Yeah, he was pissed.”

“But, he accepted it?” questioned Mickey skeptically.

Ian chuckled. “He doesn't really have a choice. I mean the original terms of our marriage that he laid out in the proposal were strictly for the public eye. He himself had said all the stuff behind closed doors was in my hands, so I took it all back.”

Ian bent his knees up towards his chest, slouching a bit more against the pillow, before continuing.

“It's like I forgot about that until today. I mean, for the longest time I was just trying to get as much as I possibly could from the situation, so I didn't let myself even think about it, and I felt like all that shit spun out of my control or something. Cutting that stuff out will make all of this so much easier.”

It was so quiet on the other end that Ian's smile finally dimmed. After a moment, he questioned, “You still there?”

“Yeah,” returned Mickey quietly. “I dunno, I'm just really proud of ya, man.”

Ian's stomach aggressively fluttered. He was again beaming as he pulled in a breath, almost unsure of what to say to that praise.

“Thanks, Mickey,” he returned through an audible smile.

“Choosin' yourself over the dollar signs isn't easy.”

“Yeah, it really isn't,” agreed Ian, “You've helped me with that, though.”

“That right?” drawled Mickey, “Why you think that?”

Ian focused hard on his knees, almost choked up by the truth. It made his body heat up, his mind buzz.

“You just make me feel like maybe I'm worth more than I thought. Like I deserve better.”

“You do,” breezed Mickey, as if this really was the ultimate truth.

“Thanks,” returned Ian through a shaky breath. “And honestly, last week was harder than usual. Like all the dishonesty I always felt was extra unbearable. Everything with John has always been a lie, but...I don't know, now that my heart's invested somewhere else the lie is just too loud.”

“Ah, so my ass ruined it for ya?” teased Mickey.

Ian laughed, expelling some of the vulnerable energy he was swimming in.

“Yes,” said Ian through his fading laughter. “Totally ruined it all.”

Mickey laughed, “Fuckin' good.”

“Proud of yourself?”

“Bet your ass I am.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” sang Ian, “Tell me why John was whining about you earlier. Something about picking a fight with Nate?”

“What about it? He was buggin' me in the break room.”

“Uh huh,” returned Ian in a playful tone, “Because, I got to thinking about it, and wondering why you would go after Nate. I don't think I mentioned much about him on Friday, yet I'm thinking you probably picked at him because of that.”

A quiet moment passed and Ian's amusement grew.

“What're you askin' me, Gallagher?”

“I think you know.”

“Alright, look, your phone was goin' off non-fuckin'-stop and I was worried—“

“So, you broke into my phone?”

“Uh, no,” argued Mickey, “It's not a B&E if you have the key. That shit's just _trespassing_. You gave me the password to do it.”

Ian laughed thoroughly, “While I was under the influence.”

“I was worried about you,” countered Mickey with his own laughter, “'scuse me for lookin' out for your ass.”

“Nah,” said Ian through his ongoing easy laughter, “I'm totally cool with it. I don't have anything to hide.”

“Well, I only looked at Satan's texts, anyhow,” mumbled Mickey, a bit guiltily.

“Mhm, so what'd you do to Nate?”

“He wanted donuts and coffee, so I threw all of them away.”

Ian was again laughing, maybe too boisterously, considering he was having a secret phone conversation. “I bet his face was priceless.”

Mickey laughed along with him for a moment. “Yeah, he looked like I just pissed on his leg. He totally pussied out, though. Wanted the jerkoff to throw a punch.”

Ian could picture it all in his head. Nate's dumb face twisted with anger, Mickey's cocky expression while he stared at Nate waiting for the opportunity to lay him out. This stirred a fiery heat inside of Ian that translated through his tone as he spoke lowly, “I bet you did.”

Mickey let out a surprised laugh and questioned, “This doin' it for ya?”

“Mhm,” hummed Ian. He stretched one leg out, digging his heel into the bed as his mind went on to summon more imaginative scenarios with Mickey. He pulled in a long breath and continued, “Feels like it's been forever. Miss you, Mick. You been missing me?”

Mickey seemed to understand exactly what Ian was implying, as he let forth a breath into the phone and replied, “Lil too much.”

“Oh yeah?” grinned Ian, “Your hand getting tired?”

“Fuck off,” chuckled Mickey.

Ian laughed along with him, before slyly returning, “I'd rather fuck you.”

“Mn, feel like doin' that on Friday?”

“Yeah, and you better be able to handle what I'm gonna give you.”

“And what ya gonna give me?”

“I'm just feelin' a little pent up.”

“Oh, so you mean you're gonna give me a good hard _three minutes_?”

“Shut up,” laughed Ian.

Mickey laughed along with him for a moment before suggesting with a familiar tone of confidence, “Maybe you should keep that pipe cleaned in the meantime?”

“Yeah?” Ian's hand was already slipping down between his legs before he asked, “Should I do that right now?”

“That sounds like a good idea, ya know, for your health and shit.”

Ian grinned. “Just looking out for me, huh?”

“Mhm. So what, you taking care of yourself or not?”

“Only if I can listen to you.”

Ian couldn't believe it was happening, with John just on the other side of the condo. But, he had a certain level of privacy, now— _finally_. He had a room to himself, with a lock. This privacy alone was going to change everything in Ian's day to day. There would be no more of John's dumb excuses to keep him from having his own corner of the home. To keep from locking everyone out and talking to Mickey on the phone every night.

The relief he felt from that thought alone was immeasurable.

*

Friday morning started out frustrating and wobbly as Ian walked in on John speaking in hushed tones to Liam in the living room. With suspicion Ian asked what was going on, but John merely dismissed it as him questioning how Liam was doing in school.

Naturally, Liam had told him everything the second John left. Apparently, he was trying to offer Liam gifts in exchange for truths. He questioned Liam on if Ian was seeing anyone else. This made Ian's nerves buzz throughout the day, but he frequently squashed those paranoid concerns down by the fact that John was incapable of understanding why Ian would ever set the ground rules that he had. Of course, in _John's eyes_ , their activities behind closed doors were mutually enjoyable, but he knew he only believed that because Ian was very convincing.

He had worked so hard to make John believe that it was about more than the money—because, that's what got him more money. It made perfect sense that John thought it was just about Ian cheating.

This curiosity of John's would certainly give Ian extra caution where Mickey was concerned, however. If John suspected anything like that, then he really couldn't risk a slip-up.

Thank god for Friday.

Ian had dropped Liam off already and was currently walking up the stairs to Mickey's apartment with a giddy stream flowing inside of him. All of his worries were gone. This was his safe place—his safe time. He was so unbelievably itchy for Mickey's presence, especially since the big changes with John.

He felt like his old self, like he knew himself a little better, and thus knew exactly how he wanted to present himself; what he had to offer.

Mickey greeted him with a cheerful smile as he swung open the door and Ian's body reacted all the way down to his fingertips. He knew exactly what he wanted and where he wanted his future to be.

Ian glided inside of the apartment, keeping his eyes on Mickey as he stripped away his coat. He hung it up with barely even a glance as he simultaneously reached for Mickey with his other hand to pull him closer. Ian watched his sparkling eyes close as they kissed, before closing his own. He pulled a deep breath of Mickey in through his nose; basking in the multiplying joy this act gave him. He spread his fingers out as he ran his hands up Mickey's back, appreciating the feeling of him in a way that was as if he hadn't touched him in a year.

Ian felt almost a rebirth of himself, as if he had busted out of a shell that had slowly grown around him. He was fresh and the feelings he'd always had for Mickey were even more of a reward than before—if that was even possible.

Mickey pulled away enough to announce, “Dinner's almost done.”

Ian smiled, chasing after Mickey's lips to bump his own against, before questioning lowly, “What'd you make me?”

“Lasagna—“

Mickey barely got the answer out before Ian was smothering his mouth with his own once more. Ian couldn't possibly think of anything else right now when the taste of Mickey was giving him a high.

His hands went to Mickey's head as they dipped into one another. Every single sensation seemed infinitely heightened. Ian couldn't get enough of the gelled strands of hair that wrapped around his fingers as eagerly as he grasped for them. Just the same with the smoothness of the back of Mickey's neck, which felt like warm silk to Ian's left palm.

And Mickey's plush lips were just as addicting and inviting as the first time they had kissed in that alley. How could they still feel as desirable and exciting after all their exchanged kisses? Ian was certain they always would. The way they were warm, wet pillows beneath his own and also firm in their assured movements was endlessly intoxicating. Ian put his entire focus on them, as Mickey readjusted his mouth to devour him, and a deep moan escaped him.

Mickey tugged Ian's body in closer to his own in response, but this simply set Ian off in moving them from the spot they had landed in initially. Their legs tangled a bit as Ian ushered them towards the hall.

Mickey pried his lips away and laughed against Ian's mouth, keeping a firm hold on Ian as he continued to push Mickey backwards into the dark hallway.

“Not even going to eat first?” grinned Mickey, before playfully nipping at Ian's lower lip.

“Hungrier for you.”

Ian dipped his head down to kiss the side of Mickey's neck, which smelled just as good as it tasted. His pheromones alone made him hard—and his touch even firmer against Mickey's body as his warm desire turned to something fiercely needy and impatient.

“Looks like you're fuckin' starving,” returned Mickey a bit breathlessly as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, bumping against the door in the process.

When Ian's tongue connected with the nape of Mickey's neck, he heard the man release a sound of pleasure as his fingers dug in tightly against Ian's back.

They didn't even turn off to the bed as they continued moving into the room. Instead Ian found himself shoving Mickey against the wall beside his nightstand. The grunt this garnered from Mickey, and the physical disconnect, had them both looking to one another. There was nothing but lively interest in Mickey's beautiful eyes as Ian moved in close again, sharing a wordless conversation with him.

Ian slid his hand onto Mickey's jaw tightly, locking it in place and bracing himself for what would come next as their shared staring spoke volumes of their equally matched needs.

“Take your pants off.”

Mickey visibly swallowed before Ian kissed him widely.

While again losing himself to Mickey's hypnotic lips, he heard the soft metallic sounds of Mickey undoing his belt between them, and unzipping his pants. He felt the fabric brush his own leg as it dropped, which encouraged the center of his tongue to slip along the long length of Mickey's offered tongue.

He pushed both of his hands down Mickey's sides to his hips under the elastic band of his boxers. He kept pushing down until those fell on top of his pants around his ankles. Ian then moved his hands to the back of his thighs and raised them up until he grasped onto Mickey's ass with both hands. He felt the movement of Mickey kicking his pants and boxers off over his feet while again their tongues met in a deep embrace that made Ian feel breathless.

Mickey wrapped his arms up Ian's back and grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling their chests tight. And as they went on to kiss with intensity, forgetting about oxygen and the pain of teeth, they practically clawed at each other like cats. Pure instinct drove them as their bodies began to repeatedly grind into each other heavily.

When Ian's head emerged from the hot fog he began to lower himself, stopping at Mickey's neck one more time to indulge in it. But, soon he was on his knees, face to face with Mickey's erection. He didn't touch him at first, however, as he instead dragged his tongue up the inside of Mickey's left thigh to his hip, where he began to suck. Mickey squirmed a bit, luring Ian's eyes up to him. He had his lower lip pinned under his teeth and his eyes shut tight. Ian smiled to himself and leaned back to open the drawer of Mickey's nightstand. He quickly fished out the lube they used the most and dropped it onto his lap to wrap his hands back around Mickey's thighs.

Mickey let out a swear as Ian dragged his blunt nails down the back of his legs while he mischievously ran the tip of his tongue along the length of Mickey's hardened cock.

“Try'na fuckin' kill me?” rasped Mickey.

Ian grinned up at him, feeling an aggressive satisfaction at the sight of Mickey's glazed eyes.

“Nah, trying to fuck you.”

“Get the fuck on with it.”

“Mm, maybe I'll take my time,” threatened Ian playfully, even though he was currently squirting lube onto his fingers.

Mickey smirked down at him as Ian slid his left hand back up his leg and slipped the right around to his ass. He hissed a bit as Ian slipped his fingers between his cheeks, smearing the lube.

“What happened to you givin' me all that pent up frustration you were talkin' 'bout?”

Ian let out a laugh, opened mouth smiling at Mickey now, and let his mind fill with every fantasy he had jerked off to in the last couple of days. There was so much—too much—that he wanted to do to Mickey.

Ian kept his eyes locked on Mickey's as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head of Mickey's cock. A rewarding heat pooled in his core as his watched Mickey's eyes close and his head fall back. He sucked and licked as his fingertips circled meaningfully. He barely even worked the tips of two fingers in before simply plunging the full length of them inside. Mickey jerked forward in reflex, causing his dick to slam into Ian's mouth. He hissed and swore again as his hand suddenly grasped tightly to the top of Ian's head. Ian tasted Mickey's pleasure and began to moan and bob his head.

And when Mickey's plump ass began to press back against Ian's wrist, nearly pinning it to the wall, Ian extended his third, lubed, finger to join the others. This is when Mickey urgently tapped his head in warning. Ian quickly pulled his mouth away, gasping in a needed breath, and looked up to Mickey's blown out eyes gazing down at him ravenously.

“Fuck,” Ian voicelessly spat, before he began to thrust his fingers in more carelessly.

His head spun as he was unsure if he just wanted to make Mickey come this way or not. It looked so good, watching Mickey fall apart from this angle. He had to reach his left hand down to undo his pants just so he could free his own aching cock. And for just a fleeting moment he was tempted to jerk himself, but when Mickey's eyes dropped to it and he bit down on his lower lip to stifle a groan, Ian couldn't stand the thought of not fucking Mickey with it.

Ian stood, stilling his fingers deep inside of Mickey, as he kissed him, sucking his bottom lip out from under his teeth. Ian's pants fell just before he felt Mickey's hands yanking down his underwear.

Ian kicked one leg free from his fallen clothing and began to move his fingers again as they tilted their heads to deepen their kiss. Mickey's hands were pulling him in tightly, with one hand going up the back of his shirt to, nearly painfully, press his blunt fingernails into him.

It was all mixing into an unbearable teetering place of pleasure, so Ian pulled his fingers out. He practically yanked Mickey's t-shirt off, causing their mouths to separate. They were both panting, suffocated from the quick build, and Ian's voice was scratchy as he spoke, “Turn around.”

There was no hesitation from Mickey as he turned to face the wall.

Ian squirted more lube into his hand and as he coated himself with it he leaned forward to kiss the spot of Mickey's neck just below his ear. Mickey's head bowed in response, until his forehead was set on the wall. He let loose a moan and reached back to wrap a hand around Ian's lower back, tugging him close eagerly. Ian smiled and grabbed Mickey's hips, yanking them back more until Mickey arched his back.

As Ian began to push himself inside he found Mickey unbelievably tight. He watched Mickey's reaction for a moment, finding his heart rate increasing from the sight alone, before he leaned forward to press lips to his skin. He dragged his bottom lip up the back of Mickey's neck, circled his tongue along his skin, and nipped at the place where his neck and shoulder connected. He felt Mickey begin to push his ass back against his motions and grinned against his skin.

Ian's eyes were shut as this continued on until he was fully buried inside of him. They both stilled for a moment of adjustment, but Ian's hands began to move around. He pressed them into Mickey's chest, his ribs, dragged them lower and lower, and pushed them down the front of his thighs as far as he could go.

“You feel so fucking good,” murmured Ian.

“Great, you gonna do somethin' bout it?” returned Mickey, turning his head enough to look back at him.

Ian smiled at him and began to experimentally roll his hips. Mickey's own amused expression started to fall, his eyes drifting away a bit.

“Something like that?”

Mickey's hand moved up the wall beside him, moving along it like it felt as good as Mickey felt to Ian. And yet he challenged, “Mm, still waitin' for the pent up promise you gave me.”

Ian let out a breathy laugh and straightened up. His hands went to Mickey's hips and he watched himself plunge into Mickey, slow and hard. His gaze honed on the way Mickey's ass moved as his hips connected with it, which seemed to bewitch him as he lost track of time just watching it happening over and over again. His muscles began to tense as pleasure rattled through his bones, until he was gripping Mickey's hips tighter in reaction. He moved faster, harder.

His left hand stayed firmly wrapped around Mickey's hip while his right wandered up his back. He stretched his fingers out as it reached the spot between Mickey's shoulder blades, then he pushed Mickey back into the wall. Ian locked his arm, keeping Mickey's chest pinned to the wall, and firmly tugged on Mickey's hip, until he was arching his back more.

Ian shut his eyes once more, losing himself to the sounds of his hips smacking into Mickey's ass. His head rolled back as he thrust his hips faster and faster, letting his mouth fall open to a soundless moan that almost choked him.

Mickey's broken grunts began to morph into stretched groans of pleasure, causing Ian's eyes to open to see him in his current state. His heart jumped aggressively at the sight.

With his head turned, the side of his face pressing into the wall, Ian could see the smile that was stretched high in his expression. He knew what this smile meant; Mickey was completely lost to the feel of it all. He was riding high. And knowing this alone caused a barrage of emotions to mix with the physical things Ian was feeling. His gaze pinned to the corner of Mickey's upturned mouth as he reveled in just how sexy he found that smile.

It was overwhelming and mindless, everything that Ian felt, and only caused his motions to become more aggressive; more unrestrained. His hips were carelessly pounding into Mickey's ass, now, and his breaths were short and loud.

He bent forward and ran his tongue up Mickey's ear. Mickey seemed to slide down the wall a bit to arch his back even more, sticking his ass out further until Ian found himself remaining deep inside of him even as he still moved his hips with the same abrasive momentum.

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey's middle to keep their bodies close and keep himself grounded. And both of their bodies were moving in unison, now, in tight chaotic motions.

Ian's head naturally fell against Mickey's, where he endlessly panted against his neck, his eyes shutting so tight like he might disappear, or be elevated to another plane. He heard incoherent words jumbled in Mickey's grunts and groans and found himself speaking in a deep foreign tone, “Mickey...”

“Don't fucking stop,” demanded Mickey, his voice shaking from the reverberation through his body.

Ian's right hand returned to the top of Mickey's back between them, but this time moved up his neck and into his hair. He grasped on tightly, taking in a complete handful. Mickey let out a loud, encouraging moan, and Ian couldn't stop himself from kissing that beautiful corner of Mickey's mouth. Mickey immediately turned his head as far as he could until most of their lips connected. Ian slipped his tongue out against the side of Mickey's.

His body began to burn from head to toe and Mickey turned his head away, returning his forehead to the wall, once more letting loose rising, deep moans. Ian pulled away, keeping hold of Mickey's hair so that he pulled his head back tight.

Ian's jaw trembled as he gazed on at Mickey's gorgeous stretched neck, entirely exposed and smooth.

“Oh, fuck, Ian,” spat Mickey tightly, without a breath.

Mickey's ass pressed back even more, until Ian was readjusting his stance to continue his thrusts with more direction. Ian wrapped his free hand around one of Mickey's hips. He could feel Mickey pulling against the hold he had on his hair as he bent forward as far as he could with his head back. He watched him press both palms tightly into the wall and then felt the extra strength this gave to his beautiful ass, which greedily slammed back against Ian's hips with the same level of need Ian gave forth.

Ian was done for.

His eyes traveled Mickey's flexed arms, his curved back, his plush, bouncing ass, and he moaned to expel the overwhelming stream of pleasure he felt. It was unreal how fast and strong he felt his orgasm rising, expanding. He released Mickey's hair to instead reach around for his cock. Ian fought hard to hold out, to focus on only Mickey's pleasure, which was unbelievably difficult as it was extra satisfying when he barely stroked him before Mickey was exploding before him; making a mess of the wall in front of him.

They both groaned loudly together and Ian wrapped his arms back around Mickey to hug him tightly as he welcomed his following release. He seized up, probably squeezing Mickey too tightly. They swayed and rocked a bit together as the euphoria traveled through like roaring nomad. When Ian's senses began to return they both fell forward into the wall as one solid force.

Ian's chest burned as he tried to settle his breath, noting the way his whole body seemed to tremble. When he managed to open his eyes he found himself looking at Mickey's hand still splayed on the wall. He read the letters on the man's knuckles before lifting his hand to slide onto it, dipping his fingers between Mickey's. Mickey closed his hand, so that their fingers were curled tightly together.

Ian shut his eyes with a smile now on his face, letting himself focus on the rise and fall of Mickey's back beneath his still pounding heart.

 

 

 

*

The lasagna was burnt.

Mickey mourned it as he scraped away the top layer where all the extra cheese had turned black. He turned on the vent in the kitchen and retrieved a bag of shredded cheese from the fridge, pouring enough on top and returning it to the oven in attempt to get it at least close to what it would've been. This time he didn't leave the kitchen until it was dished up on plates.

Ian felt like he was living the life he had always meant to as they both sat on the couch in nothing but their underwear, inhaling the delicious dinner. Every time he glanced at Mickey he wondered if it could get any better. What more could he want out of life?

Mickey quickly cleaned up once they'd finished eating and Ian heard him crack open a couple beers before he returned. He set them on the coffee table and dropped back into his spot beside Ian, who was watching his every move. He only finally turned his attention back to the tv when Mickey sent him a curious glance.

He listened to Mickey light a cigarette, but then it was hovering in front of him. Ian smiled and thanked Mickey, plucking it from his fingers. Mickey returned an acknowledging noise and lit his own.

“So, uh, what's the deal with John-boy?”

Ian hadn't expected _him_ to be brought up at all. He felt a strange worry in his gut as he looked to Mickey and found him looking oddly tense, keeping his eyes to himself.

“What do you mean?”

Mickey sucked in a loud hit from his cigarette and slouched more on the couch.

“Is he keepin' his fuckin' hands to himself or what?” asked Mickey with sharp wave of his hand.

Ian smiled.

“Yeah, Mick. He's actually listening to my rules.”

“Better be.”

“Suddenly so concerned, huh?”

“Obviously. It was different before. When we started all our shit, you already had your arrangement with him. It wasn't my fuckin' place to say anything. Now, though...” Mickey paused to shake his head tightly. “If I find out that asshole crosses any of your lines, he's a dead man.”

Ian leaned over to Mickey, face lifting into an even larger smile, and spoke, “You mean, now that we're exclusive? Is that what you're getting at?”

Mickey scowled at him and leaned around him to flick ash into the ashtray on the coffee table.

“Call it whatever the fuck you want, man. But, I mean what I'm sayin'.”

Ian let out a joyful laugh and gave Mickey a playful shove. “Look at you, getting all protective.”

“Fuck off,” groaned Mickey, “I just know he's a piece of shit, s'all.”

“And you wanna protect me from him. Big bad Mickey Milkovich style.”

Mickey started laughing, giving Ian the finger in the process, and declared, “I'll tell you what the fuck I _really_ wanna do. Whoop your ass in Mario Kart.”

Ian barked out a surprised laugh and grinned, “You're on, let's fucking do it.”

Nope, it couldn't get any better than this.

Ian felt like a kid, again, as they played. Both of them were on the same level of excitement—shouting and swearing at the game and trash talking each other. It was pure fun. Just fun. That alone had felt like a luxury that Ian had long forgotten until Mickey came into his life. He wondered what it'd be like to have this every day—to unwind with Mickey like this.

Soon, they were neck and neck in the game, with Ian barely taking the lead in points. Mickey grumbled irritably and scooched closer to the edge of the couch, as if getting closer to the tv would help. The competition in the air was thick.

Ian grinned cockily at Mickey as he watched him chug half of his beer quickly before the final round started.

“Alright,” breathed Mickey while he practically slammed his beer down on the coffee table, “watch me take this fuckin' trophy from you.”

“Not likely,” sang Ian, “I've got this in the bag.”

“Oh yeah? How bout we make a little wager on this shit?”

Ian laughed. “Like what?”

“Twenty bucks?”

“Hmm.” Ian's eyes darted over Mickey and he shook his head. “How about twenty push-ups?”

“Push-ups?” repeated Mickey with surprise, but a smirk that followed. “Alright, you're on, Gallagher. I wouldn't mind watching you do that.”

Ian snorted in amusement and motioned to the tv impatiently.

From the first second to the last of this round they both played dirty. The computer characters were practically non-existent as they both targeted only each other with shells, bananas, and every other odd weapon. They playfully shoved into one another and leaned in front of each other's views.

Mickey cackled wildly when he hit Ian with a red shell and took a massive lead. And when one of the other players hit him with a blue shell, causing Ian to let out his own maniacal laugh, Mickey nearly stood up, shouting out empty threats at the computerized character.

The final lap had both of them leaned forward, arm-to-arm, and hyper-fixated. Ian was in second place and Mickey was gaining on him in fourth.

But, then Ian leaned over and in a quick movement ran his tongue up Mickey's cheek. Mickey jumped, swearing sharply, and attempted to wipe the saliva off on his shoulder as he again threw himself into Ian. The distraction worked out enough as Mickey made the final turn too tightly and ended up in the sandy terrain.

“Cheater!” shouted Mickey as Ian laughed excitedly, popping up into a wheelie to zip through the remainder of the race. “You're a fucking cheater!”

Ian raised his arms in victory as he crossed the finish line in second place, with Mickey barely managing to reach sixth. He turned to Ian with wild eyes and shook his head. Ian's laughter only continued. Mickey couldn't seem to stop himself from laughing, too, as he shoved Ian once more.

“I want a do-over!”

“Na-uh! I won!”

“You cheated!”

“You were trying to distract me, too,” argued Ian, “My distraction just actually worked.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes, unsuccessfully looking anything but amused. Ian beamed at him and set his controller down on the coffee table.

“So, about those push-ups.”

“Fuck you,” laughed Mickey, “Cheatin' don't get you push-ups.”

“You a sore loser or can you just not do twenty?” teased Ian.

Mickey's brows raised in challenge as he stood immediately in response.

“You think I can't do twenty push-ups? Watch this shit, asshole.”

Ian felt his face would split from smiling so hard as he watched Mickey walk to the open area of his living room, pride on full display and defense.

It looked even better than he'd anticipated, watching Mickey drop to his hands and feet, straightening his back. His eyes traced down the smooth exposed skin of his back as he watched Mickey lower himself the first time. He regretted not including _losing the boxers_ in the wager as he watched his round ass flex under the plaid fabric. And as his body heated up from the display of the powerful muscles in Mickey's arms tighten and bulge, he found himself gravitating closer.

He dropped to the floor beside Mickey, going into a plank of his own, which had Mickey sending him a look.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Since I cheated I thought I'd join ya,” said Ian, through a breath as he began the motions, quickly pushing through two.

“Oh my god,” laughed Mickey exasperatedly, “The fuck was the point of the bet then?”

Ian laughed, but continued his push-ups beside Mickey, admittedly wanting to channel the surge of energy he'd felt watching Mickey's body move. He loved push-ups, anyways. He used to do so many of them when he was young; he missed the hyper-focus on strength training sometimes.

“Alright, then let's make another bet,” suggested Ian and they both looked at one another, going still. “I bet I can do the last ten faster than you.”

“You just wanna show off,” teased Mickey.

“Maybe,” returned Ian with a smirk.

Mickey's eyes set with something heavy and hot as they danced around Ian's cocky expression. He nodded his head and spoke, “Alright, count of three?”

Ian quickly readjusted his arms and readied himself as Mickey began the count down. He focused his sights on the floor beneath him and the second Mickey spoke the number _one_ , he dropped into the first of ten. But, as he finished his fourth, too focused on the competition to even glance at Mickey, he was suddenly shoved onto his side.

Mickey's laughter had Ian grinning and shooting up to tackle Mickey out of his own push-up. He barely managed to pin Mickey down for a second before he was pushing back, wrapping a leg around Ian and flipping him onto his back with a thud. He was laughing, too, as he wrapped an arm around Mickey's back and tried to get the upper-hand again. They both struggled, caught in a mid-way grapple.

“Thought you were 'sposed to be some kinda tough guy,” teased Mickey breathlessly as he managed to pin one of Ian's hips down with a bent knee.

“Maybe I just like it when you're on top of me.”

Mickey grinned, letting out a soft laugh, as he turned and pushed Ian down by the shoulders. He pinned Ian's arms above his head and settled over top him. Ian swelled with love as he drew a deep breath, looking up at the bright blue eyes that were dancing around his face like they had all the time in the world. Nothing in this existence would ever make him feel as incredible as being the sole focus of Mickey's eyes. He felt adored. He felt lucky.

_It really couldn't get any better._

*

Ian was still smiling, lost in the recent euphoric memories of rolling around on Mickey's living room floor. They had endlessly kissed and touched one another, like nothing else mattered or existed. And it was amazing, to have found someone who was just as happy passing the time in such a way. These moments when Ian thought on how lucky he was—how he had actually hit the romantic jackpot with Mickey—made every struggle in his life worth it. He felt so secure with Mickey, and it was unusually amazing. He wasn't even waiting for the other shoe to drop, anymore. He knew Mickey cared just as much as he did for him. And no matter what else happened, he felt certain that their feelings for one another would always remain; _always_.

“Where were you?”

Ian's heart jumped as John startled him out of his bliss. He must've been standing in the hallway closet longer than he'd realized. John was just outside of it, with his arms crossed, and pure annoyance on his face.

Ian took a moment to send him a look before tiredly replying, “At Lip's, as usual.”

“How do I know that's the truth?”

“I'm sorry, are you asking for proof that I was with my family?” questioned Ian in disbelief, looking John right in the eye. “Call him and ask.”

John narrowed his eyes a bit, letting them dart down Ian's form. There was a strange little challenging smile on his face, as if he really did know the truth. Ian fought down the concern that rose within him. John didn't know shit, he was sure of it.

“You know that you still can't cheat on me, right? That's part of upholding the image of my doting husband. So, if you're not having sex with me, you're not having sex at all, right?”

“Right,” nodded Ian confidently. “There's more to life than sex, John. I can live without it.”

“Can you?”

Ian rolled his eyes and pushed pass him, taking off down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“If you're really not out fucking someone else then I'm sure you'll be showing up in my bed for more than just extra cash.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” spoke Ian coolly.

“Jerking off in the shower can't be nearly that satisfying.”

“It has been for the last two years,” Ian fired back, opening the bathroom door to said shower. “I'll go test it, though, just to be sure.”

Ian slammed the door behind him and locked it as loudly as possible

It was pathetic. Ian knew that John must've just been feeling a combination of insecure and horny, and thus he was going to keep trying to manipulate Ian back his way. So pathetic. But also, truthfully, satisfying to Ian. After so long of letting John boss him around and degrade him, he could stand to watch the man try his hardest to sway Ian back his way; especially, knowing that he would never give him what he wanted, again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had more things pop up to add to chapter 22 so it's not going up with this one like I had originally said lol But, it's about done and should be up by next week! You guys are really the best. Thank you so much for sticking around with me <3


	22. But I Hear Sounds in My Mind, Brand New Sounds in My Mind

For the next month Ian settled into a healthy routine with minimum frustrations from John.

He had school Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, and worked the other two days. On his work mornings he would drive Mickey to work for extra time with him, and Friday nights he spent resetting joyfully at Mickey's apartment. He hardly interacted with John at the condo and most nights he would talk with Mickey on the phone before going to sleep. It was all very different, but manageable and less stressful than it had been before.

On one Sunday night, however, he was reminded of his _duties_. It was already mid-February, he could hardly believe. But, this was the one thing John had actually talked with him about in the last few weeks. This was the week his brother, Aaron, would be in town.

Ian was laying in bed in the guest room, half watching tv and half working on a paper for school, when there was a knock at the door. He called out to come in and John swung the door open. His gaze immediately zipped around the room, as if he expected to find something incriminating on display.

The way John had been around him for the last month was at once silent caution and also a simmering pot that was ready to overflow with bubbled anger. Ian's defense was always up as he waited for John to make little comments, or ask suspicious questions, or worse.

Ian slowly set his laptop aside as he waited, watching John from the top of his head; completely aware of how annoyed he looked by his presence. Finally, John set his gaze on Ian, but still took another moment before he spoke. He cleared his throat, glancing down as he leaned against the door frame.

“My brother just called to inform me he's settled in our parent's home.”

Ian nodded his head, having no verbal confirmation worth giving.

“We'll be meeting him at the restaurant tomorrow at six. I'll be driving us there, so I expect you to be ready and dressed in your best by five-thirty.”

“Sounds good,” breathed Ian as he sat back against the headboard, crossing his arms.

“Do I need to be concerned about your behavior?”

Ian furrowed his brow, giving John a look of disbelief. “What?”

“Well, now that I _disgust you_ , can I even count on you?”

“Jesus,” groaned Ian, “We went to that brunch with the Crestwells two weeks ago and I don't remember you having any complaints.”

“You know how important this is to me, Ian,” stressed John, “If he senses anything is off—“

“This is my paycheck,” interrupted Ian, leaning forward with emphasis. “I know my role. And I'm not going to risk mine and Liam's livelihood just out of spite.”

“Spite?” repeated John with a huff. “Wow, you really hate me, don't you?”

“Is there something else you need me to know? If not, I've got a paper to write, so...”

John pursed his lips and didn't even twitch for a long moment—until Ian's phone buzzed beside him on the bed. Ian glanced at where it was lit up and partially covered by a fold of the comforter. His heart skipped as he read the name _Minnie_.

“Who's texting you?”

Ian kept his expression schooled, bordering annoyance, even as he internally panicked. Not that he'd ever let John go through his phone—and the name would give away nothing. But, still, there was a tremor of fear inside him.

“Not that it should matter to you,” started Ian with a roll of his eyes, “But, Mindy from work.”

“Oh? Is something wrong?” questioned John with a challenging lilt.

Ian narrowed his eyes at him. “Just talking about the new guy. He's bugging her. Anything else you want to know?”

“No, I'll leave you to your cave,” said John as he straightened up, “Just remember you will be under the microscope all week.”

“As if I could forget with your family.”

John looked away, raising his gaze to the top of the closet for a moment, before looking at Ian once more. Again, there was that worrying silence that unnerved Ian.

“Do not screw this up,” commanded John with a honed gaze and frightful stillness.

He then silently left the room and Ian deflated.

*

The car ride to the restaurant was quiet and uncomfortable. John's anxiety was palatable. At one point Ian tried to initiate some conversation by asking, “So, is there anything new at work that I should know about?”

“Nothing that I would've told my husband.”

Ian rolled his eyes and focused his sights out his window for the rest of the drive. He spent that time preparing his persona, so that when he was stepping out onto the sidewalk and adjusting his suit jacket, he was also wearing a pleased smile. As if he was just the happiest person alive and couldn't contain it.

He held the entrance door open for John and placed his hand on his back, as if he couldn't resist touching him in the process. He walked very close to John while they were led to the table where Aaron was already waiting for them, despite the fact that they were ten minutes early. He stood to greet them with his own trained smile.

Physically, Aaron was the seasoned version of John. At first glance they looked quite alike—had similar bone structure and even similar mannerisms—however, Aaron was a bit taller, kept every strand of his hair styled perfectly, had a sharper jawline and gaze, always seemed to think before he spoke, wore his suits better, and carried himself with nothing but casual confidence. When they stood next to one another there was no doubt who was the younger brother.

Aaron and John shook hands, as they always did, and Ian couldn't stop himself from comparing the interactions to those of his own siblings. He couldn't imagine being so cold and shallow with his siblings. They always greeted each other with hugs and a mutual joy that stemmed from being part of a unit of desperate kids that survived together and only together. The Woods family had never bonded through anything, and it showed.

Aaron shook Ian's hand, as well, while John settled into his chair.

“We missed you at Christmas,” spoke Aaron kindly, and Ian did a perfect job of not laughing at the lie.

He smiled wider and returned, “Yeah, I was sad I missed it. It sounded like the best one yet.”

Ian slipped into the chair beside John, running his hand along John's shoulder in the process, and proceeded to lean in to speak just loud enough for Aaron to hear, “I missed you more, though.”

John flashed him a pleased smile and they stared into each other's eyes for a following moment. It was, thankfully, interrupted by the waiter coming by to take their drink orders. As he left, the small talk began. They asked Aaron about his flight in, when his returning flight would be, even how the old Woods house was.

Ian remembered having a hard time grasping it when he'd first met John, how their family owned homes in three different parts of the country. He couldn't imagine alternating between so many houses throughout the year, how could you truly make any of them a home, he had always wondered.

The Chicago house was their original home, so he guessed it would be the most meaningful to them—if that was even possible.

“Your parents will be coming out to stay through the spring, right?”

“Until they can't stand the summer heat and leave,” chuckled Aaron with a nod.

Ian let out a laugh. “Can't blame them, I'd do the same.”

“Oh? Should I be looking for a good summer home for you to escape to?” joked John.

Ian sent him a dazzling smile and shrugged, “You won't hear me complain.”

“Northern California is just right,” chimed Aaron.

Ian reached for the glass of red wine that had been placed in front of him, and before taking a few sips, he asked, “How is California, by the way?”

“Fine,” breathed Aaron. “Although, I'll admit, I'm missing Chicago these days. This city breathes differently, and I think I miss the energy.”

“So, you're considering moving back?”

“It's crossed my mind,” smiled Aaron.

That was intriguing. Ian could imagine the way he was sure John had just tensed up.

“Are you looking into real estate while you're in town?” inquired John.

Ian noted the smile Aaron sent John in the next moment was entirely cocky, like he knew very well what this was doing to his younger brother.

“Tomorrow I'm looking at three places.”

“Where at?” asked John, a little eagerly.

“Downtown.”

Ian swore the heavy silence that followed was just as suspenseful as any horror movie he'd ever seen. He watched the two brothers stare at each other, itchy and waiting for the hammer to drop. When nothing happened and it became unbearable, Ian spoke.

“Well, that's exciting,” he said, luring both sets of eyes to him and his shining smile. He casually wrapped an arm around John's shoulders, as if they were actually a united front, and continued, “We'll actually get to see you more than once a year.”

Aaron's winning smile returned.

“Are you contemplating a job at Woods tech.?” asked Ian casually, even if he knew he was stirring the pot a bit.

“I've considered looking into it.”

“So, the startup failed?” quipped John, all his rudeness on display.

“No. It was purchased, actually.”

“I'm sure you made a good chunk of change from that, huh?” suggested Ian.

“Downtown Chicago isn't cheap,” returned Aaron with a wink.

Ian let out a laugh and agreed with a nod. “I'm lucky John's the main provider or I'd have to make some serious lifestyle changes.”

John's hand unexpectedly settled on the top of Ian's thigh, causing him to twitch in surprise. He quickly recovered by smirking and looking at John, who definitely looked satisfied.

“You don't ever have to worry about that, Baby,” spoke John while his hand unbelievably rose up Ian's thigh in an intimate way. Ian quickly reached for his glass of wine to wash down the bile that he tasted in response.

“Mom says you're contemplating adoption?” asked Aaron.

Before John could reply the waiter came by to take their orders. Ian hadn't even glanced at the menu, yet, so he quickly scrambled to scoop up the menu as Aaron placed his order. As his eyes zipped around the contents of it, he dropped his left hand below the table to John's on his thigh and lifted it, to reposition it closer to his knee. He felt John look at him, but ignored it.

That was unnecessary and inappropriate, Ian told himself. It was below the table, so it wasn't like it actually benefited the situation. He soon felt John remove his hand all together. Admittedly, it was difficult not to let the awkwardness or tension be visible, but he tried his best as he smiled at the waiter and placed his own order.

He struggled to jump back into conversation as John went on to tell Aaron all about his brand new dream of being a father by next year. Ian's disgust doubled as he listened to John talk about it like he was purchasing a car. He kept finding himself thinking on how this was yet another reason to get out of the marriage as quickly as possible; for the sake of this hypothetical child. He was certain that if he left then John wouldn't have the balls to go through with adopting.

 

 

*

The next few days were mentally exhausting, as they met with Aaron in public several times for meals and even a short visit with him at their family's home. School was stressful enough, without having to put on this tiring facade in the evenings. The visits were all always inevitably full of passive-aggression and tense small talk that made Ian just want to curl up in a ball and sleep.

He missed Mickey, as he thought it best not to drive him to work with an extra set of eyes watching his life. And he hardly got in much time with him on the phone before crashing at the end of the night.

Thursday night they had gone to a high-end bar, which was at least more bearable, considering the atmosphere and alcohol. But, then Aaron had decided to hitch a ride with them back to their home, which had Ian making endless wishes that he wouldn't stay the night. As he watched the two Woods brothers pour liquor into glasses in John's kitchen he felt his wishes vanishing.

The two actually seemed to be enjoying themselves as they gossiped about family members and laughed loudly. Ian, however, was sporting a tense stomach. He did not want to have to sleep in John's bed, yet that seemed to be the path they were on.

Liam seemed equally annoyed and uncomfortable as he entered the kitchen long enough to say goodnight. Ian offered to tuck him into bed and double-check any homework he might have, but this was just a cover. Instead, Ian went to the room he had been using and removed all traces of himself, hiding it all in Liam's room with a wink. Liam barely gave him a nod of acknowledgment before rolling onto his side in his bed.

With that, Ian headed back towards the kitchen, but couldn't get himself to go all the way. Instead, he collected his coat and headed for the balcony. Sitting in his usual chair he pulled out his phone and sent off a text to Mickey. He wanted to whine about his discomfort and the dread of possibly having to even be in the same room with John later, but instead a louder thought came out.

**Ian:** _I miss you_

Thankfully, it didn't take long for a reply to come through.

**Mickey:** _You ok?_

**Ian:** _I'm alright just another long night. Won't be able to call either._

He knew Mickey's routine well enough by now to know he would be trying to sleep soon, anyhow. He felt another opportunity for time with Mickey slip through his fingers and shoved down the bitterness that evoked.

**Mickey:** _You'll have to tell me all about it tomorrow night_

And there was yet another problem with the week that Ian had tried not to think about.

**Ian:** _Not sure if I'll get to go over there at all tomorrow since Aaron's here until Sunday._

**Mickey:** _Oh right fucking Woods assholes always ruining shit_

Ian snorted in amusement.

**Ian:** _Ikr? Lol_

**Mickey:** _And I miss you too, Sappy._

Ian smiled and took a moment to light up his cigarette. Things were only getting better and better with Mickey all the time. This last month had been filled with unexpectedly sweet and supportive words from him, and soft physical gestures. When Ian had gone to his apartment last week, exhausted from studying late and a following busy day at work, Mickey had made him dinner and cuddled with him on the couch. He hadn't even complained when Ian had slept away two hours of their limited time together. The more and more used to each other they became over time, the more free and comfortable Ian felt in his presence. He never, ever wanted it to end.

As he drew a deep drag from his cigarette he readjusted his phone to start typing out a text, but then the balcony doors opened. He tried not to jump, or look guilty, as Aaron walked out and shut the door behind him. Ian casually slipped his phone into his pocket as he watched Aaron walk to the railing and pull out a thin silver case.

“You smoke?” inquired Ian with surprise.

Aaron opened the container and pulled out a cigarillo to hold up. Ian nodded as he watched Aaron return the silver container to his pocket, thinking on how he hadn't known people actually smoked those. He'd only ever seen them used to make blunts. But, he chose to keep that information to himself as he watched Aaron light the small brown cigar.

Ian sucked in a hit from his cigarette, watching as Aaron placed a hand on the railing and looked out at the city with a pensive expression, as if he was a pressured ruler to the inhabitants below. Ian tried hard not to let his amusement show in his expression.

“You have a difficult job.”

A quiet moment passed as Ian tried to understand that unexpected comment. He couldn't for a second believe Aaron thought his secretarial work was difficult. So, when Aaron turned his head to look at him, Ian sent him a questioning look with a quizzical tilt of his head.

“Being married to my brother,” smiled Aaron.

Oh.

Ian managed a soft laugh before replying, “I guess marriage can be, yeah.”

Aaron's gaze sharpened, his smile growing wider, and Ian felt a tremor of concern.

“This conversation is strictly between us. I don't want to even think about what he'd do to you if he knew. Surely more than just lessening your pay.”

Ian looked down as he couldn't trust himself not to betray any truths. And he really didn't know what was happening. He was contemplating going inside to avoid the whole thing when Aaron spoke once more.

“Ian, I don't think of you as a whore. But, I'm certain you _don't_ get paid enough to be John's slave.”

Ian reflexively scoffed. “I'm no one's slave.”

“Oh? What would you call it then? He controls everything you do and say, doesn't he?”

Ian pulled in a double hit from his cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray. Things were about to go to shit, if he didn't exit the situation quickly.

“I suppose it's not slavery if you're being paid for it,” mused Aaron, “ _Unfortunate employee_ , then?”

“I'm his husband, not his employee.”

“Sure,” huffed Aaron sarcastically. “I'm not an idiot. I know you two have some sort of an arrangement. I'm honestly not trying to judge you for your choices, I just pity you. His own family can't put up with him for more than a week. You must be miserable, and counting the days until you can escape.”

Ian looked to Aaron with a tense expression, his jaw locked, and found his leg bouncing. It wasn't anything new, to be patronized by a member of the Woods family, but it never got easier to ignore. He didn't sign up for this shit.

Silence set in as they stared at one another and Ian realized he felt entirely lost in the moment. What could he do? What did Aaron want from him? Aaron was just drunk, he was sure, but could he manipulate and direct him the way he'd grown up doing with the drunks in his life?

“I don't know what you're trying to get me to say,” Ian finally spoke.

Aaron unexpectedly breezed over to the chair beside Ian, taking a seat and looking down at his knees.

“I'm not as heartless as you'd assume. I'm trying to apologize on his behalf.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he never will and someone needs to.”

Ian looked away. He didn't know Aaron well enough, so he tried his best to process if this was a trick or not. It felt sincere, but Ian couldn't just cave without suspicion.

“And admittedly,” continued Aaron, “I'd love to see you crush him. I... _encourage_ you to spit it all back in his face. No one's ever done that to him before.”

“Ah, you just want to see your brother fall apart.”

“Yeah,” nodded Aaron, “I'm not too proud to admit that. He tries to make my life hell, he always has. Just talking to him for more than five minutes has been unbearable since Julia left me. He rubs it in my face every chance he gets.”

Julia, his ex-fiance. Ian knew that to be a fact as John had endlessly laughed when he found out it she'd left Aaron. Ian frowned at Aaron and nodded his head in understanding.

“Sorry about that, by the way.”

Aaron waved a hand in dismissal and puffed on his small cigar.

“But, what exactly are you offering me? If you actually believe that I'm here just for the financial benefits, what could you do to make me leave?”

Aaron laughed heartily. “I'm not going to pay you to leave my brother. You can't swindle me, Ian.”

Ian couldn't help but smile, it was worth a shot to test those waters. He rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment and opened his mouth to question Aaron on why he'd think he'd go if it was his only financial security, but Aaron pressed on.

“Actually, since this conversation is strictly between us, maybe I should rephrase this as a warning.”

Ian's heart dropped a bit at that. His brows pulled closer together as he repeated, “A warning?”

“It's possible things will be changing around here, Ian, and he will not be happy. He could become even more of an asshole.”

“Wait,” Ian sat back in his chair and shook his head a bit, “He's right, huh? You're going to try to take the company from him, aren't you?”

“I've been discussing it with our father, but unbelievably he's reluctant, considering John has actually done a decent job. He told me that without just cause or liability he won't just take it from him. Even if John is a spoiled brat.”

“So, what? You're trying to dig up some dirt on him while you're in town?”

Aaron smiled cheekily and shrugged.

Ian raised his brows and expelled the first honest thing he'd ever said in front of the man before, “Your family is fucked up.”

Aaron barked out a laugh. “You see why I like you?”

Ian let loose deep laughter that rumbled from his chest. “No, really. I thought mine was, but, christ. At least my siblings aren't like you two.”

Aaron snorted at that. “I really want to care about my brother, but he's been a monster his whole life.”

“I'm sure he came out of the womb demanding everything,” joked Ian quietly.

Again, Aaron was laughing wholeheartedly and Ian felt his tension dissolving. It still felt strange, but the air seemed clear of any bullshit.

“You know, when Dad ran that background check on you, we all knew what was really going on. We _all_ do, Ian.”

“That's why your lovely mother didn't want me to join the christmas festivities,” murmured Ian in acknowledgment.

“You didn't miss anything fun. Hell, I'm sure you had a better holiday than any of us.”

“I did,” returned Ian with certainty.

“Good for you,” smiled Aaron as he slouched more in his chair and put his head back. Ian watched him puff from his cigarillo again, before he continued, “What I'm saying is that we know there's an arrangement, and knowing how John is we get that it's highly unlikely for you to walk away with anything more than yourself, so there shouldn't be any big family backlash against you when you do. Assuming it's a clean break.”

“That's good, but I hadn't thought there would be, anyways,” returned Ian with a hint of confusion.

Aaron turned his head to look at Ian with a strange glaze to his expression.

“Maybe you're more naive than I thought.”

Even though Aaron had just told him not to be, Ian suddenly felt worried.

“Mom's tried to ruin Julia's reputation every chance she's gotten. And Dad offered to do more than that.”

Ian gave Aaron a look of concern, wondering if maybe the family was even darker than he'd realized before. “Like what?” he asked quietly.

“She's an attorney, you know. He said he knew people that could take away her license to practice law. He suggested she might come running back to me in desperation.” Aaron huffed an annoyed sound. “They didn't know her at all. She'd never do that. She's a fighter.”

“She sounds great,” returned Ian with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” smiled Aaron, his eyes brightening with admiration.

“I don't know if you're just trying to manipulate me, or drunk, or you're choosing now, of all times, to actually show me who you are, but, uh...” One side of Ian's mouth quirked a little higher, “You're starting to become my favorite Woods.”

Aaron chuckled and returned, “I'm sure the bar's set pretty damn low.”

Ian snorted, but found his laughter cut in half as he spied John opening the balcony door. There was confusion on his face, masked by a forced amusement.

“Wondered where you two got to,” said John with a pointed look for Ian, who frowned. “It's getting late and I think we should be headed to bed, don't you?”

“Right,” agreed Ian slowly.

He stood and glanced at Aaron, wondering just how real their conversation was. He was sure he'd find out by tomorrow if John was angry or not.

“The guest room is set up for you, if you don't feel like going.”

Aaron smiled and stood, as well, “Thanks, I think I will just stay here. We've got an early day tomorrow, anyhow.”

“You can borrow one of my suits,” offered John.

Ian was about to offer his toiletries when John cut in with a short, “Baby, let's go to bed.”

Ian tried not to let his annoyance show as he nodded and said goodnight to Aaron, before following John inside. He thought of the messages on his phone and spoke, “I'll meet you in there, I'm gonna hang up my coat.”

John shook his head in annoyance and headed off to the bedroom. Ian stifled a sigh and headed for the hallway closet. He quickly erased the messages and resisted sending an explanation for his sudden silence. Mickey was used to it by now, he was sure he knew Ian had been interrupted.

As Ian headed towards the master bedroom he heard the sound of the guest room door shutting and quickly went down a list in his mind, hoping he had removed anything suspect from the room. Entering the master bedroom felt strange. Stranger than it ever had before. John was already in bed with all the lights off, but Ian had gotten used to finding his way through the dark of the room at night very early on in their arrangement.

When he slipped under the covers on, what used to be, his side of the bed, John spoke,

“What were you two talking about?”

Ian let out a long breath as he settled in, adjusting the pillow beneath his head.

“He was mostly rambling about Julia.”

John let out a short sound and mumbled, “Pathetic.”

Ian comfortably rolled his eyes in the dark before he closed them. John had always been good at falling asleep very quickly, so after several minutes of silence Ian had expected him to be asleep. And yet the bed moved at one point, before he felt one of John's hands on his tummy. Even if he couldn't see him, Ian still shot a sharp glare through the darkness in John's direction. He promptly grabbed that hand and removed it from his body.

“Goodnight, John,” said Ian firmly, before rolling away onto his side.

John sighed irritably and spat out, “Whatever.”

Ian moved as close to the edge as possible, and worked hard to ignore the discomfort he felt from the presence of John. But, he eventually fell asleep with Mickey in mind.

**

**Ian (10:22 a.m.):** _Jesus you won't believe the convo I had with Aaron last night [wide-eyed emoji]_

Mickey read this message over with a crease between his brows.

**Mickey:** _You gonna tell me about it or just fucking tease me?_

**Ian:** _Haha hopefully I can at least call ya later so I can tell you tonight_

**Mickey:** _So you are just teasing me [middle finger emoji]_

**Ian:** _It was an excuse to text you [winky face emoji]_

Mickey smiled. He was missing Ian more than usual this week, so when he said things like that—or when he had texted Mickey _I miss you_ last night—his gut swirled happily.

**Mickey:** _Yeah whatever you fucking tease lol You at least gonna tell me if I need to punch the guy or not?_

**Ian:** _[laughing emoji] no no it was a good talk!_

**Mickey:** _Still sounds like I need to punch the asshole..._

**Ian:** _Wait lmao you getting jealous?_

**Mickey:** _Still waiting for clarification Gallagher_

**Mickey:** _He's like 30 ft away I could go hit him right now_

**Ian:** _[laughing-crying emoji] Stop! It was nothing warranting a punch I promise._

**Mickey:** _You're such a dick lol Why won't you just tell me?_

**Ian:** _Gotta build suspense. It'll make you look forward to a call later ;)_

**Mickey:** _Like I wouldn't already?? You're just being a dick._

**Ian:** _:)_

Mickey chuckled to himself and leaned back in his chair. He set his phone aside to rub his eyes for a moment. John had spent the whole work week warning all of them about today, like he was a prophet and it was the fast approaching apocalypse. Albert and his team would be in soon, and his brother was shadowing him all day. Both of these things seemed to have John in a particularly horrible mood the whole week leading up to it. So, seeing John smiling brightly and acting casual earlier when he introduced his brother to the staff was laughable. They all knew he was internally freaking out.

His brother did exude a casual confidence that he'd never seen in John, and just by that alone Mickey grasped an understanding of John being insecure in his presence. Watching him squirm all day would be one benefit of the stressful day, he thought.

As if his thoughts foolishly summoned them, Mickey then heard the voice of evil incarnate asking, “Ellison, are we all ready?”

Mickey turned in his seat enough to look at the two Woods brothers standing near Ellison's desk.

“Yes, Sir,” returned Ellison, shooting up out of his chair to stand in a respectful way that Mickey wouldn't have bothered with. “Everything's set up in the conference room already.”

They were nearing the end of this project, finally. Just an estimated two months left. And Albert was coming in with his team to review the newest presentation of their progress. Everything was downhill, now. They mostly just had kinks to work out, testing, testing, and more testing to do.

Admittedly, Mickey also couldn't deny the flicker of excitement he felt at maybe getting a moment alone with Albert to confirm that the possible new job would still be available to him. The more and more time that passed the less Mickey thought he could easily survive at Woods Tech. It was especially feeling impossible to look at John with anything but disdain, anymore. As if that hadn't already been difficult enough before.

He was ready to break free from this professional chapter of his life.

John unexpectedly turned and made eye contact with Mickey—maybe because he was just mindlessly staring at them while he thought on his future. Mickey swallowed, straightening a bit, as John took a few steps towards his cubicle. His brother followed with a curious look.

“Milkovich, you'll be joining us, to answer any questions _Future Sun_ may have.”

Mickey's eyes uncontrollably narrowed in suspicion and flickered behind John to Ellison. That was Ellison's job. He didn't need anyone else. He'd worked all week on his presentation.

“Is that standard procedure?” inquired Aaron Woods, with a confused smile, “Shouldn't your supervisor be able to answer all of the questions? Or do you just pull random programmers away from their job for extra security?”

John scoffed as he turned towards his brother to speak in a more hushed tone that still managed to ghost Mickey's ears.

“Albert Sanders has a particular interest in Milkovich. It seems he has a taste for angry delinquents, and I do my best to please him with the eye-candy of his choosing.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but tensed when he realized Aaron was watching him.

“And your employee is comfortable with that?” asked Aaron skeptically.

“So long as that geriatric horndog keeps his hands to himself, I don't give a—don't care,” returned Mickey with a dismissive shrug.

John turned enough to look at Mickey while his brother fell silent beside him, quietly studying Mickey like he was a newfound relic.

“Interesting,” spoke Aaron quietly.

“It's really not too much different from hiring only attractive ladies to be receptionists, right? Just something pleasing for the customers to look at. Dad was guilty of that.”

“I like to think business has evolved since his time, but I see what you're saying.”

Mickey quietly snorted in amusement and pivoted back to his desk, which thankfully seemed to encourage the two Woods men to leave.

 

*

In the conference room, Mickey took his seat next to Ellison and nervously nibbled his bottom lip. He felt so out of place. Especially, knowing that it was unusual for someone at his position to even be in the meeting. John could've at least made it less obvious by including a couple other programmers.

“Should I be doing anything?” asked Mickey in a dull tone.

Ellison shook his head. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

Mickey shot him a look that had Ellison raising his hands in mock surrender and letting out a laugh.

“Lucky you're my supervisor,” murmured Mickey as he then studied the rest of the room.

He spied a small cart off in the far corner with coffee, a pitcher of water, and a small stack of some kind of pastries. His empty stomach practically yanked him from his seat and led the way over to it.

There was a variety of turnovers and danish pastries. Mickey hovered his hand above the small mountain before choosing one that looked familiar. When he took a bite he happily confirmed they were the same as the cherry cheese ones Ian had brought him a couple weeks ago.

While he was pouring himself a cup of coffee to have with it he heard the door opening and looked over his shoulder to find both Woods brothers walking into the room. John was eyeing him already. Mickey felt himself deflate a bit and knew it probably showed in his expression.

“I know where you come from it doesn't really matter,” began John tiredly, “but it's impolite to dig into the food before our guests arrive and have a chance at it first.”

Mickey rudely scoffed at that.

“If it's impolite then you should be thanking me, right?” returned Mickey as he scooped up his food and coffee, beginning his way back to his seat beside Ellison. He looked at John with raised brows as he settled in and still hadn't heard any kind of reply. Apparently, he had to spell it out.

“Old Al gets off on that shit, doesn't he?”

John rolled his eyes as he made his way to the far end of the table, on the same side as Mickey and Ellison, and took a seat. Aaron, however, was hovering between them, eyeing Mickey again. Mickey uncontrollably scowled at him a bit, wondering what was so fucking fascinating about him.

“One of these days, Milkovich, your brashness is going to be damaging,” stated John.

Mickey snorted in amusement while lifting his pastry, but before taking a bite he dismissed John's warning, “Don't worry bout it.”

Aaron let out a hum of interest while he went on to pull out the seat next to his brother. Mickey watched him curiously.

“I'm not going to lie, everything you two have said about the situation has me intrigued. I can't wait to see how Albert Sanders interacts with you,” spoke Aaron, “He must be an interesting character to enjoy...your _brashness_.”

“Hey, I don't understand it anymore than you do,” returned Mickey with a shrug, before taking another bite from his pastry. He chewed it a bit before speaking around the food, “That guy has a walking hard-on for me, though.”

“Milkovich,” sighed John loudly, “Could you not be disgusting for just five minutes?”

Mickey grinned as he continued chewing his bite. He sent a wink to Aaron, who looked amused by the exchange. Maybe he liked Mickey's brashness, too.

“Sorry, Boss-man, I'll try to contain myself,” replied Mickey, with a serious lack of enthusiasm.

As it grew quiet in the room, John seemed to nervously ask Ellison about his presentation. Mickey's supervisor seemed to do the best he could to lay it all out in the simplest way. Mickey finished inhaling his pastry and focused on his coffee, deciding it was best to remain as quiet as he could.

Thankfully, it was only fifteen minutes later that John shot out of his seat, adjusting his tie and murmuring, “They're here.”

Mickey looked over his shoulder, but didn't rise from his seat like the two Woods did. Albert and two others were led into the room by Elizabeth, whose bright smile instantly vanished as soon as they'd walked past her.

While John introduced his brother to Albert and greeted him for longer than necessary, Mickey leaned back in his seat and sipped from his coffee, silently judging John. It was a little startling, but made Mickey smile regardless, when a hand dropped down onto his shoulder. Albert spoke close to his ear, “Isn't this a nice surprise. And how is my favorite tech genius doing today?”

Mickey turned enough to look up at the man. “Best damn day of my life,” he replied very dryly through an accompanying smirk laced in attitude.

Albert's eyes sparkled at him as he laughed.

“I'm sure,” spoke Albert, with a glance towards Ellison. “I hope you two haven't stressed yourselves out too much.”

“Nah, we've got this.”

Albert smiled with adoration and nodded, before making his way to the other side of the table. Although, he noticed the small cart of drinks and pastries and took a detour to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“So, I can expect good news then?” questioned Albert over his shoulder.

“Yes, Sir,” returned Ellison, with a slight quiver to his voice.

Mickey looked to him with a raised brow, hardly holding in his amusement. Ellison shot him a quick glare before focusing his eyes on his laptop, seemingly clicking on random things to seem busy or expel his obvious anxiety.

Directly across the table from them Albert's associates took their seats and set up their tablets, murmuring to one another, while Albert took his seat and gently blew on his coffee. The dynamic was so obvious, and Mickey nibbled his bottom lip to resist laughing over it.

Before long Mickey relaxed more and more while Ellison gave his presentation. He even felt pride as he viewed the software he had helped create—had put so much time and effort into. And Albert and his team looked nothing but pleased from where they were turned in their seats to watch the large flat screen.

The two suits that had joined Albert were the ones with the questions, which they read off of the tablets they had in front of them. It was mostly logistics and projections—mostly things that only Ellison had the answers to, but there were a couple questions that Mickey got to chime in with or answer himself. He'd almost forgotten the Woods brothers were even in the room as the four discussed the software while Albert curiously tried to keep up.

Mickey had long since finished his coffee, and so he fidgeted with his empty cup as time went on and on. He was just about to get another cup of coffee, if nothing more than to move around through the boredom he was feeling.

But, when John waved his hand, catching everyone's attention, the atmosphere changed. Mickey watched John smile and tug his fingers again to something behind him and looked over his shoulder in time to see Ian approach the glass box of a room. He opened the door with obvious caution and politely smiled.

“I'm sorry, am I early?”

“Only by an hour, you ditz,” teased John.

Ian appeared confused as he turned his attention to the clock on the wall. His brow furrowed tightly.

“But, you sai—“ Ian obviously caught himself before he exposed John or started an argument. He cleared his throat and suddenly wore a charming smile, which had Mickey silently sighing and returning his attention to his empty cup. “I'm sorry about that, _Dear._ I can go wait in your office?”

“No, no, we shouldn't be much longer,” answered John, “You can sit in here while we finish?”

“I don't wanna impose.”

“Nonsense. I'm barely keeping up with all of this, come join me,” suggested Albert with a pat to the chair next to him.

Mickey couldn't stop himself from watching Ian move, out of the corner of his eye, until he paused beside John to lean down and kiss him. Mickey averted his eyes to the notes Ellison had typed up on his laptop, going as far as to lean over and pretend to give a shit about them.

All he could think about, however, is why John would want Ian present so badly. It started to make sense when Ian sat beside Albert and they went on to share pleasant, easy conversation. Ian's charm was on full display and Albert seemed to be gobbling it up, while Ellison continued on with Albert's associates.

Maybe John was very aware of the fact that Albert seemed to have minimum knowledge of the software, and would likely be happier with an outside distraction.

Mickey found himself in a strange limbo as he alternated between listening to Ellison speak and Ian telling Albert about how school was going. He couldn't help but feel proud of Ian as he told Albert how well he'd been doing lately in school, how much he was learning, how he was even more excited now to jump into his future work.

“Mickey,” whispered Ellison harshly, yanking Mickey's attention back to him.

Ellison's anxiety was on display again as he stared at him impatiently.

“What? Did I miss something?” murmured Mickey.

“Do you have anything to add? We're wrapping up here.”

Mickey scowled at his supervisor, leaning in close to speak in a hushed tone, “This is your thing, man, I'm just here to look pretty, right?”

He unexpectedly felt Ellison kick his ankle from beneath the table, causing him to shoot the older man a glare.

“Don't be rude,” mumbled Ellison quietly.

Mickey sighed and returned his gaze to the two across the table. He plastered on a fake smile and spoke, “I have nothing to share. Do you two have any questions for me?”

The one on the left, a woman with a painfully tight looking bun at the back of her head, sent him a confused smile and shook her head. “No, thank you. I think we're done here.”

“Great,” drawled Mickey.

John reappeared in Mickey's world then, as he abruptly clapped his hands together and spoke, “Wonderful. I hope all of you were satisfied by our progress.”

Albert looked to his two associates for the answer he obviously didn't have. Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling amusingly, and while the one of the two associates answered John, Albert seemed to notice Mickey's expression. He grinned and tugged his head, motioning for Mickey to come over.

Mickey promptly stood with his empty coffee cup and tried very hard not to look at Ian as he approached the two of them.

“What's so funny, wise-guy?” inquired Albert as he pivoted his chair to face Mickey.

Mickey shrugged a bit and returned, “You really are just the face, aren't ya? Must be nice to just sign things and smile for a living.”

Albert laughed. “Too right you are. You never know, you might end up there one day yourself.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned around to get himself more coffee to take back with him to his desk.

“You really think too highly of me. I think you gotta loose screw you should look into.”

“So modest,” snorted Albert. “And my screws are nice and tight, still, thank you very much.”

Mickey turned back with a grin.

“I bet they are,” returned Mickey with a jump of his brows, successfully making Albert beam and look down, bordering bashfully. And Mickey's amusement didn't even dim when his eyes shifted to Ian, who was staring at him with disbelief. He subtly shook his head and Mickey felt the corners of his mouth perk up even more as he hid behind a sip of his coffee.

“What are we talking about over here?” spoke John with a cheery smile he approached with his brother at his side.

“Just how good Albert's screws are still,” answered Mickey, causing John's expression to fall into surprise behind a wobbly grin.

Albert was laughing, again. Mickey really felt insanely confident that he could always entertain the old man. Which did strengthen his hope that he still would want Mickey to work for him, if for no other reason than to be his class clown.

“I see,” replied John through a strange laugh.

Mickey glanced at Aaron who had been silent from where he stood with his hands in his pockets, and again he wore a studying expression, clearly taking in every detail of the situation.

“Well, we're going to be heading to lunch,” announced John, with his hand reaching out to Ian's right shoulder. “We'd love it if you could join us?”

“That's lovely, thank you,” smiled Albert, “But, I have another meeting to get to soon, back at my office, so I'll have to decline this time.”

“Oh, of course. Rain check?”

“Certainly, yes.”

Mickey could only stand the silence that followed, and the company, for three more seconds before he drew in a loud breath and spoke, “Well, I better get back to my actual work, now.”

He glanced back at the pastries that remained untouched by anyone else then turned and scooped up two onto a napkin, to bring back to Amy and Damon. With his hands full he looked at only Albert and gave him a sincere smile and a nod.

“Good seeing you, again,” he said as he started his departure.

Albert reached out to pat his arm as he passed him, and returned, “As always. I look forward to our next encounter, Mickey.”

Mickey didn't look back, not at anyone. And he said nothing to either of his bosses, because he knew that it was only important that he acknowledge Albert in this situation, and he had no desire to put in any extra effort. He also didn't want any added temptation to look into Ian's eyes—not with his husband's full attention on him.

**

John really had no problems sacrificing Ian's pride for his own gain. It was irritably _unnecessary_ for him to tell Ian the wrong time, just to have him arrive early. He could've just told him he wanted him there for Albert's sake. Ian considered that maybe that had just been for John's own amusement, which made it difficult not to smack him in the back of the head as he followed him out of the conference room to head towards his office.

Ian uncontrollably turned his attention in Mickey's direction and found himself smiling as he saw Damon leaning over into Mickey's cubicle, stuffing his face with one of the pastries Mickey had grabbed. Ian took Mickey in with an appreciative eye, as he was leaned back in his office chair, talking to Damon like he was completely relaxed. Like it was _his_ office. He could picture him behind a big desk in a private office, running the whole company. It'd look really good on him.

Ian's mind was wandering, now, so he forced his attention back to John. He opened his office door and held it for Aaron and Ian both. Ian plopped down in one of the leather chairs directly in front of the desk, while Aaron chose the small couch off to the right side of the room. He let forth a sigh as he leaned back and stretched an arm over the back of it.

“Well, everything seems to be going really well,” spoke Aaron, and Ian didn't miss the flicker of disappointment in his eye.

While John was settling in his chair behind the desk Aaron made a face at Ian, who stifled a smile. Clearly, Aaron was hoping for something to go wrong that he could take to their father.

“Yeah, John's got a really good team,” observed Ian, with the hidden agenda of explanation for Aaron.

“They're adequate,” agreed John, which Ian was sure was the closest to praise John would ever get.

“That Milkovich is certainly a colorful character,” commented Aaron with an amused smile, as he crossed a leg over the other. Again, Ian stifled a smile.

John let loose a dramatic sigh. “He's a giant pain in my ass. Always asking for an excuse to fire him. Always testing me, clearly for his own enjoyment.”

“Why do you keep him then?”

“Because, I've had no legitimate reason to fire him, and despite him being a total asshole, he gets his work done. Also him being unprofessional and trashy is what Albert likes about him.”

Ian tensed, lowering his gaze to his own knees. How was he supposed to bite his tongue after hearing something like that?

“So, what are you going to do with the next client?”

“Hide him,” laughed John, “Move his desk into a closet, or something.”

“Excuse me,” said Ian as he quickly stood, unable to listen to another word and not snap. “I gotta use the restroom.”

He had zero interest in knowing if John would find more to say about Mickey. He also had such a strong desire to flee that he left the office before John could direct him into his private bathroom. Ian knew exactly what he was doing and what he really needed. He walked quickly, afraid anyone would interrupt him or stop him.

When he entered the restroom he bent over enough to check all the stalls, pleased to find the room empty. Ian let out a breath of relief and turned to the counter, briefly glancing in the mirror. He set his hands on either sides of a sink and leaned forward.

At least the week was nearly over and he could get back to his somewhat normal day to day.

The door swung open, catching his gaze, and there stood Mickey, letting the door fall shut behind him. Ian stood up straight with a growing smile and softly spoke, “I knew you'd come.”

“Oh yeah?” returned Mickey with a smirk, “You think I'm just a lost puppy following your ass around?”

Ian eyed him quietly for a moment, feeling strangely intoxicated by the sight of Mickey in his professional element. He couldn't begin to understand how John could sit around talking shit about such a fascinating, beautiful person.

Ian glanced at the closed door Mickey was standing in front of and then began to move closer to him. If they were in front of the door, they'd know if someone was coming in. Mickey seemed to read Ian's thoughts as he leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. Their eyes locked and Ian's thoughts spilled over, “It's really hard being in the same room with you and not being able to look at you.”

“Pretty sure I saw you peek a few times,” returned Mickey with a quirked eyebrow.

“Nobody's perfect,” smirked Ian as he settled in front of Mickey, “I saw you looking, too.”

Mickey shrugged and unfolded his arms to slide his warm hands inside of Ian's suit jacket to his sides. Ian pressed a hand into the door, just above Mickey's shoulder, and leaned in with a breathy whisper of, “A moment alone, at last.”

Mickey was smiling as Ian kissed him.

As they fell into one another, Ian momentarily forgot where they were. It was blissful, to be able to abruptly escape with Mickey like this. It wasn't until the sound of a distant phone ringing breached his ears that he realized they couldn't indulge too much without being careless. Ian groaned against Mickey's mouth and spoke, “I can't believe we have to wait a whole week for actual alone time.”

“Fuckin' sucks,” agreed Mickey.

“The Woods really ruin everything,” sighed Ian.

Mickey nodded in agreement, but said nothing else as he caressed Ian's jaw and pulled him back in for another kiss. After being so fake the whole week, Ian _needed_ this. He needed something organic and real, like what they had with one another.

This kiss was much slower and indulgent. Ian took his time dragging the tip of his tongue across the inside of Mickey's full bottom lip while Mickey's tongue moved over the top of his, dipping into his mouth. Mickey sighed through his nose and moved in closer, chasing him for more physical contact.

Their break from reality was abruptly shattered by the door smacking into Mickey's back, and him instinctively swearing loudly. Ian darted back to the sinks, thrusting his hands under one of the automatic faucets, just in time for a man to cautiously poke his head in.

“Jesus, Ravi,” spat Mickey, “You don't have to break the damn door to get in.”

“Sorry, Mickey,” frowned the man, “I didn't know you were on the other side.”

“ _Trying to leave_ ,” added Mickey with an annoyed motioning of his hand.

Ravi seemed to catch on and quickly moved out of the way, so Mickey could exit with an irritable sigh. Ian finished pretending to wash his hands and moved to dry them, while sending the stranger a hopeful smile.

“Whoops,” the man said through a cringe, as he headed for one of the stalls.

Ian gave him a laugh and exited the bathroom, too. That was too close, he thought with a slow exhale of breath laced in adrenaline. _Too close_.

But, worth it.

Ian raised his sights to the office he needed to return to and there may as well have been a dark cloud sitting over it. His pet cloud, maybe.

With a bit of a frown he continued on. Back to John. Back to lying. Back to constantly holding his breath.

He resisted looking at Mickey as he wanted nothing more than to run right back to the escape they had in one another. The buzz of the busy office filled his ears even louder and he focused on it to silence the yearning thoughts he had.

But...something strange came over Ian in this moment, causing him to pause at the halfway point of his journey. It felt _wrong_ , like a warped interpretation of reality. He couldn't believe it, after living this way for months now, it felt so incredibly wrong leaving Mickey to return to the asshole in the office. Physically walking away from warmth and honesty to voluntarily return to a fraudulent, cold life...what the hell was he doing?

His heart was not only racing, but seemingly rising up into his throat. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, realizing that his body temperature was shooting through the roof. Was he dying? Was the ugly truth literally killing him?

“Are you okay, Mr. Woods?”

Ian snapped out of his thoughts, turning to find Amy holding a folder in one arm and three energy drinks in the other. She was frowning at him as she took a step closer.

“Oh, yeah, I'm fine,” dismissed Ian casually with a smile. He glanced down to his hand to confirm it was shaking and closed his fist. He knew what was happening, but that wasn't going to stop it. He was perfectly fine just a few minutes ago and yet here he was. He cleared his throat as he returned his gaze to Amy, schooling his expression once more. “I was just trying to figure something out.”

She nodded, causing a few extra strands of her black silky hair to fall from her messy up-do.

“Well, it's nice seeing you, again,” offered Amy.

“You, too,” returned Ian with a genuine smile, “I'll let you get back to work.”

She made a face before she continued on, and Ian silently laughed to himself as he continued. Mickey didn't seem to have a lot of people in his life, but the ones that he did have seemed genuinely kindhearted. Ian loved that about him. He hung on to the ones that counted.

Ian took in an easy breath, his racing thoughts calming a bit as he thought on Mickey. This had him caving, scanning the large room until he spied the top of Mickey's head. He was busy, typing away on his keyboard. He knew he couldn't linger, and couldn't stare, but he tried to just keep Mickey in mind as he started moving once more.

Ian kept his focus this time, even sending out cordial smiles to people as he moved. However, as he opened the door to John's office, he felt the same discomfort fill his gut, again, and the same questions swirled up into his mind. It didn't help that Aaron was gone, now. Being alone with John, for even just a handful of minutes, made Ian feel surprisingly angry. He swallowed around the dryness of his throat while he returned to his seat in front of John's desk. This was wrong.

“Hey,” greeted John, barely pulling his eyes from his computer screen for more than a half second. “Aaron took a call, but we'll head out to lunch as soon as he gets back, alright?”

Ian nodded, but felt sick. His stomach twisted and his chest tightened. He locked his jaw shut, his eyelids dropping a bit as he watched John.

“I think Dad called him to get a report,” mused John with a roll of his eyes while he pivoted in his seat more to look at Ian. “At least Albert was happy enough with the presentation and Aaron should have nothing but...”

John's voice faded into the background and a different voice took over Ian's mental processor. One that was tired and unable to explain the unbalanced situation continuing on. It was nonsense. His heart was still racing, but he felt his other symptoms calm as everything came into focus. All the different types of misery he felt had a source: John.

While sitting there in front of John, watching the man's lips move as he endlessly spoke, he again wondered what the hell he was doing. Did he really need this anymore? No, he didn't. He'd faced the truth of the situation over and over again in the last couple of months; the people he had to support him, the money he had saved, the much happier vision of having freedom to be with Mickey whenever—all of these things had been repeatedly pointed out to him. He understood why he'd been scared and cautious. He didn't blame himself as he thought on it _now_ , even.

He had been overwhelmed before, and thus unable to process the truth. But, after the last month with his little bit of control back, and very limited time with John, he had actually been able to calm his storm and return to shore. And he didn't realize it until this moment, but he had been seeing things different; with his mind and not his uneasy gut.

Ian didn't just have a little control over the marriage; he had the means to end it.

“Ian? Are you listening to me?

_Clarity._

Ian had always thought this moment would be brought on by either his graduation or something loud and dramatic. But, there was a calm that came over him—a surge of logic based confidence—as he looked into John's confused eyes and spoke the words, “I'm done.”

John's initial expression said he knew exactly what Ian was referring to, and yet his mouth hung open and his brow knitted together tightly in a lack of understanding.

“What are you talking about?”

Ian pulled in a breath and shrugged. “I'm done. I'm going to go pack up my stuff.”

He stood and John followed him to the door, saying his name in a desperate tone. Ian paused, turning enough to look at him.

“Why? What happened?”

“I just don't need you anymore.”

Ian exited the office and headed towards the elevators, but John was at his side, whispering frantically, “Wait, let's talk about this. You don't have to—“

Ian turned to him once more, with an exasperated breath, and John's gaze cut across the room over his employees with a wide fear.

“There's nothing to talk about,” stated Ian, without a waver of doubt. “This just isn't necessary anymore. I want a divorce.”

John's jaw dropped, his eyes lit with flames and his face flushed bright as he again glanced around the room. Ian didn't even bother looking to any of the workers he knew just heard his proclamation. He smiled, however, knowing this might've been one of John's worst fears; being rejected in front of his workers, his colleagues, his _subordinates_.

Ian walked confidently to the elevators, like a man on a mission. He was leaving John behind in every way. And only once inside the center cart did he raise his gaze to the room—to Mickey.

He was turned in his chair, staring at Ian with his mouth agape, his eyes wide and alive and unflinching. Ian smiled a little wider at him and watched as Mickey blinked into a blossoming grin that sent Ian's heart soaring with pride as the elevator doors closed.

 


	23. Let Hope Break the Levee

_Was this right?_

Was it truly the _right choice_?

Ian swore that all of the resources he had access to in the last couple of years began to disappear from his vision, one by one. John had made his personal life hell, but when he wasn't around, everything was so much easier. His quality of life had been the greatest of his entire life.

“Ian?”

“Yeah, I'm still here,” replied Ian, into his phone that was squeezed between his ear and shoulder. He shuffled out of the condo, into the parking garage, with two white trash bags stuffed with clothing.

“I asked what brought this all on?” inquired Lip, “What did he do?”

“Uhh,” breathed Ian, his focus going to opening the trunk of his car. Already his trunk was mostly full of other trash bags he had brought out before. He managed to squeeze one more in and tossed the other in the backseat, while he thought back to the moments before he'd entered John's office. The moments before he'd committed to what he'd fantasized about for nearly two years.

The truth was probably not what Lip wanted to hear; not what most people could understand.

“I'm pretty sure I had an anxiety attack,” admitted Ian.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” nodded Ian with an uncontrolled frown. “It helped me bite the bullet. And there's no going back now.”

He was swimming in adrenaline. He felt scared and overly excited, and those things made him want to pause, but he knew there was no time for that now. It was done. He could only keep moving forward. He'd dwell on his anxieties later, in the comfort of one of the beds at the Gallagher house. Or at Mickey's.

There was nothing stopping him, now, from spending as much time at Mickey's as he could.

“Hey, if that's what it took,” spoke Lip lightheartedly, “I'm glad. You sure you don't need any help getting your shit out of there?”

“I've just about got it al—“

The squeal of tires on pavement had Ian spinning around to see John braking roughly into his parking spot. He had flames in his eyes as he quickly exited his car and slammed the door shut.

“What the fuck, Ian?” he roared.

“Uhh, Lip, I'm going to have to let you go.”

“Who're you talking to?” demanded John as he rushed towards him.

“I'll see you soon,” Ian murmured into the phone before hanging up and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“Lip,” answered Ian, over his shoulder, as he headed back to the front door. “We're moving back in with him.”

John let out a loud, sarcastic noise as he followed closely. “You're going back _there_? Do you think you can even handle that?”

Ian ignored him, pressing on. He'd already grabbed all of his belongings from the master bedroom and bathroom, so he headed right back to Liam's room. It was very telling, he realized, that the vast majority of things they had in John's condo were mostly just necessities. Clothes, toiletries, a few electronics—as if they had simply packed for a trip. A long, _long_ trip, granted. But, there weren't a lot of sentimental, or deeply personal, items that Ian found to pack.

It helped, as he crammed the last of Liam's clothes into another trash bag, still tuning out John's empty threats and very misguided observations.

“What do you want? Do you want more money? I can give you more money, Ian. I can double it, if you need. Anything you want, I can give it to you.”

Ian shook his head. That was the thing. No money in the world could provide him with what he truly needed.

He closed Liam's, now empty, closet and headed towards the hallway.

“Ian, please, just wait a minute,” pleaded John, softly, desperately.

Ian paused in the doorway. He drew a breath and reluctantly turned around. It was a strange sight, for sure, seeing John looking so vulnerable. His eyes were misty and his face was slack. He cautiously moved closer and Ian braced himself.

“Look, I...I can't just let you walk away like this.”

Ian glanced away, feeling genuinely uncomfortable with the way John's bottom lip seemed to tremble. John's hand unexpectedly ghosted the side of Ian's face. He caressed his cheek as if it was a familiar motion to him. As if they were ever tender with one another.

Ian looked him in the eyes and tried to figure out if it was genuine or some sort of manipulation tactic. It didn't really matter, either way. But, he was curious.

“Well,” Ian drew a breath, “You're gonna have to, because I'm going.”

John frowned heavily and shook his head. “Tell me how to fix it—tell me what I did.”

Ian reflexively let out a laugh of disbelief, which seemed to instantly harden John's expression. The atmosphere began to change and John's hand fell away, while Ian's coursing adrenaline hummed louder.

“I don't think you actually want me to stand here and list every single thing you did in the last couple of years, do you?”

“Ian, come on, don't just...” John paused, letting out a loud sigh. “Let's talk, for real. Let's just put our pettiness aside for a moment and talk.”

“I'm sorry, I'm the confused one, now,” said Ian, taking a step back out into the hallway, half raising the trash bag in his hand. “What the hell do you think is going on here? This was never a relationship, John. This was an _arrangement_. This was a mutually beneficial deal that is no longer working, so I'm ending it. That's it.”

John scoffed. “Come on, it was never just business.”

Ian's eyes grew in disbelief, “Uhh, yes it was. What else would it be?”

“You never felt anything for me? Nothing at all?”

Ian realized then that he might've been better at his _job_ than he'd ever known. John really seemed to believe they had some sort of relationship. But, maybe that was just because he lived in a fantasy world where he was irresistible and had plenty of desirable qualities in a marriage. He really didn't understand human connection at all.

Unexpectedly the doorbell rang, it's song echoed down the corridor to the hall Ian stood.

John's face scrunched with threat and he bit out, “Who the hell is here?”

“How should I know? I'm the one leaving.”

John shoved past Ian to rush towards the front door, while Ian stood still for a moment, rubbing his face. He did a quick mental checklist that he'd grabbed everything that mattered, ready to use this distraction to escape without John following at his heels.

“This isn't the best time, okay? Could you please give us some alone time to work it out?”

Ian's curiosity pulled him into the main hall, and what he saw made him want to both roll his eyes and smile. Aaron was standing just inside the condo, hands in his pants pockets, looking way too pleased to be comforting his brother in a time of need.

_Coats_ , Ian thought suddenly. He quickly moved to the closet, catching the eyes of both Woods brothers. He ignored them as he tore all of his and Liam's coats and jackets from the hangers inside.

“I just wanted to see if I could help,” he heard Aaron say. “What even happened? Have you guys been having problems?”

“That's none of your business,” snapped John, “Will you please leave, so I can talk to him?”

Aaron continued to ignore his brother's requests, obviously poking at the bear.

“Where's he going? Does he have a place to stay?”

John sighed loudly and snapped, “I don't know, probably his boyfriend's.”

Ian's heart dropped at that. He paused inside the closet, wondering where that statement had come from. He listened more closely, hoping for some clues.

“He's cheating on you?” asked Aaron with what sounded like genuine surprise.

“Obviously! Why else would this be happening?”

Ian's eyes rolled all the way around the planet. He exited the closet and, unfortunately, headed straight towards the brothers with his face set like stone. He didn't miss the sneaky smirk Aaron sent him from behind John's tense back.

“Ian, come on,” started John again as he neared them. He put his hands up and pressed, “We can work this out. I don't care what you did.”

Ian felt this display just confirmed he was going to be focusing on this story he'd concocted for his brother. At least he knew what John would be telling everyone in his circle. Ian wondered just how differently he'd be acting if he'd known about him actually cheating on him. If he knew the truth. He was pretty sure he wouldn't just want to _talk about it_.

“Glad you found a way to be the victim in this,” said Ian dryly as he breezed by the two men.

He didn't look back as he stormed out into the garage and headed towards his car, again tuning John out as he continued to make the same pleas and accusations behind him.

He tossed the last bag of clothes on top of the box in the backseat that held their laptops, tablets, game systems, and many chargers. He crammed the coats down onto the floor and between the bags, then climbed into the front seat with his gaze staying true.

Ian was a bottled wind that had spun the lid loose and gusted free. He wouldn't be stopped.

**

Mickey couldn't sit still.

He'd barely stayed seated at work once Ian had left. His leg had bounced the whole bus ride home and the last few hours in his apartment he had paced and cleaned and paced some more. He'd inhaled some whiskey and smoked endlessly, showered, and seriously contemplated going for a long walk to expel some of his energy. Ian had only texted him a couple times since with updates, but those texts had left him feeling the strange sense of walking through a dream. He needed more confirmation that it was all real.

After Ian had disappeared in the elevator Mickey had found it impossible to get any constructive work done. But, a lot of the office was like that, as the buzz of the event had everyone sneaking off to each other's desks to whisper about it. Once John had left, of course.

He hadn't stayed very long. Mickey had watched him closely as he stormed back to his office, angrily running his fingers through his hair. Not two minutes later did he appear again with his cellphone glued to his ear, rushing to the elevator. Mickey especially noted Aaron's strange behavior, as he noticed the man standing near Elizabeth's desk, watching his brother rush out, with a _smile_ on his face.

This had Mickey thinking on Ian's texts about a conversation with Aaron. Was he involved in Ian leaving John?

Just that thought had Mickey replaying the moment in his head.

_I want a divorce._

The look on John's face was devastation and rage. It was satisfying on an unbelievable level. And the way Ian had looked just before the elevator doors closed...he was beautiful. He looked proud of himself and so happy. Mickey would burn that image into his mind forever.

Damon and Amy both had bombarded Mickey the second John was gone, urgently whispering a dozen questions that made Mickey feel trapped and dizzy.

“I don't fucking know,” he had spat quietly, to a number of their questions, “I had no idea he was going to do that. I don't think even he knew.”

“Yeah, he looked weird when he came out of the bathroom,” expressed Amy, “I asked him if he was okay and he said he was trying to figure something out.”

“Who even cares? He _did it_!” whispered Damon excitedly, squeezing Mickey's shoulder.

Amy let out a squeak and grabbed onto Mickey's arm to shake him. For one second Mickey had let himself cave into that joy and grinned at her. But, he quickly caught himself and shook her off, shooting a glare between the both of them.

“Could you two make this shit any more obvious? Go back to your desks.”

“Right, good point,” nodded Amy, before spinning out of his cubicle to return to hers.

Mickey sighed nervously and looked to Damon, who was just smiling at him. Mickey rolled his eyes and reached out to backhand his arm. “Get lost.”

Damon cackled and backed out to return to his desk, as well. And then Mickey had been left with the impossible task of working after a monumental moment in his life. It was kind of a blur, the time after that. Standing in his kitchen, staring at his phone, he couldn't really recall how he'd even left work or gotten home. What did _any_ of that matter when Ian was currently leaving John?

Mickey was waiting for Ian to at least call or text, or anything. He didn't want to assume, but he couldn't help but think that this meant Ian would be coming over for the night—hell, the weekend, even. He just wanted to know, so he could rest his heart with the promise of answers to all of his questions at some point in the night. For now, he felt like he was in the dark.

But, then something obvious smacked him in the face. A big change that he hadn't even thought on in all his joyful hysteria; he could text and call Ian as much as he wanted, now. He knew Ian had already dropped off all of his stuff at the Gallagher house, and just needed to get Liam from school, so he wasn't around John, anymore.

Anymore.

He _wouldn't be_ around John anymore. Ever.

Mickey didn't wait any longer to unlock his phone screen and tap Ian's name to call.

“Hello?” answered Ian, after only one ring, sounding a bit out of breath.

It was such a surprise that Mickey's heart galloped unexpectedly.

“Hey, what's going on?” returned Mickey carefully, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I'm, uh,” Ian laughed and Mickey's brow furrowed. “I'm downstairs.”

“You're—“

The buzzer on Mickey's intercom suddenly went off and his charging heart jumped into his throat. Mickey stared at it for a moment, before letting out his own laugh and rushing towards it.

“Really, Gallagher?” he said as he pressed the button to let Ian in. “Couldn't have given me a heads up? I haven't even heard from ya in like two hours.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” returned Ian, “Today's been all over the place.”

“Don't doubt that,” snorted Mickey as he swung open his door and looked out.

The second Ian appeared, and they smiled at one another, Mickey ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. Ian looked both tired and energized. He glided into Mickey's apartment and didn't hesitate to strip away his coat.

“How'd it go?” asked Mickey.

“Which part?” returned Ian with a tilted head as he turned away from the coat rack. “Feel like so much just happened.”

“Your whole life just changed in a couple hours, huh?”

Ian grinned.

“Yeah,” he spoke with an unexpected softness. He reached a hand out and moved in close to place it on Mickey's cheek, then slid it back until his fingers could curl at the back of Mickey's head. “It really did.”

Ian kissed him softer than usual. It was careful and made Mickey's lips tingle so much that the second he pulled away Mickey had to bite down on his lower lip.

“It felt so fucking good to just drive here, just because I wanted to, without having to even think about what _he_ was doing.”

Mickey watched Ian's body expand with a deep breath that seemed to contain sunshine, as Ian's joy radiated off of him. He felt so lucky to be in the presence of it—to be able to bask in the ripples of it that traveled from Ian to him.

“Yeah,” spoke Mickey, with a deep, but giddy, laugh. He headed for the kitchen, and Ian followed. “It felt pretty good to just call you without worrying.”

“Right?” laughed Ian, “There are things that are already trying to stress me out, but there's so many little things outweighing them, right now.”

Mickey opened his fridge and pulled out a beer, waving it at Ian, who happily accepted it. He grabbed his own and they settled; leaning against opposite counters to face each other. Again, they smiled at one another. He wondered if they ever would stop smiling at each other. This equally shared bliss was unstoppable.

“So, what happened?” asked Mickey. “I mean, it kinda seemed out of left field.”

Ian lowered his gaze to the beer in his hand. He was still smiling, but also started picking at the label on the bottle, as if he needed to do something with his hands while he conjured the words.

“I, uh, just couldn't take another moment of it,” shrugged Ian. “I'm finally calm enough to take on the challenges that I'll have to deal with. And I'm tired of leaving you to go back to him. It was just stupid, you know? Letting myself be miserable for so long.”

“Not stupid,” dismissed Mickey, “That was some real shit you buried yourself in.”

Ian raised his gaze to the top of his head to look at him. He nodded a few times and visibly drew a breath.

“I've had a lot of things show me in the last few months that I don't have to suffer. It's hard to accept, but I'm really not in this alone.”

“It's not easy to trust people, I get it. But, your family's not bad. They actually give a shit, right?”

“When it counts,” agreed Ian. “And it counts now.”

“See? And even if they fuck up and drop the ball on ya, I've got your back.”

Ian again smiled with sweet joy in his beautiful eyes and Mickey melted into the counter behind him.

“Yeah?” breathed Ian.

Mickey nodded, “'Course.”

“Thanks, Mick. I actually trust you when you say that—It's kinda mind-blowing.”

Mickey laughed. “Yeah, get that, too. So, just how fast did you pack up all your shit?”

Ian snorted. “ _Fast_. Thankfully it was easy, since John followed me back to the condo.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and took a quick drink.

“Figured that when I saw his ass run out right after you.”

“Yeah,” huffed Ian, “I expected it, but it still annoyed me.”

“What'd he say to you?”

Ian pulled in a breath and pressed his free hand to the counter behind him, so he could slouch more.

“He was begging me to stay and tried making new deals and shit. Then his brother showed up and his whole mood switched. He started claiming he knew I was cheating and, you know, obviously trying to save face.”

“Fuckin' pathetic,” chuckled Mickey, “That must've been satisfying.”

Ian laughed and with a shake of his head returned, “ _So_ satisfying.”

“How'd Liam react?” inquired Mickey into the mouth of his beer, before he took a swig after.

Ian grinned again. “He was fucking pumped. I don't think I've seen him so excited since...Shit, since he was a toddler.”

“Must've been more miserable there than he let on.”

“Probably. Gallaghers are survivors, no matter how uncomfortable,” stated Ian. “I told him we'd start researching schools for him as soon as this settles.”

“Is he attached to the one he goes to now?”

“Hard to tell, honestly,” chuckled Ian, and Mickey smirked at him.

They settled into a quiet that was again made up of staring and smiling at one another, like they were both equally incapable of not thinking on the freedom they just gained in their relationship. The capability of growth that laid out before them was so promising and inevitable. They just had a few more hurdles to get over, then the horizon was the limit.

Mickey cleared his throat, choking down the fluttering sensation in his throat before he asked, “You hungry? I could order a pizza, or something.”

“Pizza sounds good,” agreed Ian, as he leaned forward and casually reached a hand out to hook around Mickey's side. Mickey smiled at him while he was pulled in close, watching as Ian's eyes moved down around his body.

“I, uh, brought my overnight bag,” admitted Ian softly, still looking everywhere on Mickey, but his eyes. “I packed enough for the weekend.”

Mickey couldn't bring himself to vocalize his thoughts, or even put into words the way this made him feel, but it was such an unfamiliar, beautiful security. Knowing that Ian had, just like Mickey, automatically assumed he would be here for at least the weekend. They really were on the same page. They really were equally comfortable and at ease with the fact that they just wanted to be around each other. It was so simple, yet so massive.

“So, not only did you just show up without asking, but you also assumed your ass could just stay for the weekend?” teased Mickey, though this made Ian finally look him in the eye, with actual concern. Mickey laughed at him, but Ian still looked a little tense. So, he leaned in close enough that they might kiss and whispered, “Good. Glad ya did.”

He felt Ian smile before he kissed him, and cherished the joy he found in his expression when he pulled away. Mickey quirked a flirtatious smile at him while he pulled his phone from his pocket. He moved to the drawer at the end of the kitchen counter and opened it to pull out the takeout menus he kept there.

“I'm ordering that pizza,” announced Mickey over his shoulder. “You should go get that duffel bag.”

Mickey was typing in the number when Ian headed out, but not before he roughly and playfully smacked Mickey's ass.

“Ay!” barked Mickey through a laugh, turning enough to swing his arm out towards Ian, who scurried away too quickly to be touched.

Mickey glared at him while Ian swung his coat back on, grinning right back at Mickey. When he disappeared from the apartment Mickey was still smiling to himself. He felt more grounded in reality, now, but that didn't change the fact that he was living in a dream.

 

*

They were both wound tight and overflowing with energy, which resulted in exhausting love-making that left them gasping, overheated bodies stretched out in bed. Mickey sat up enough to light a cigarette and Ian turned on his side towards him.

After wiping the sweat from his hairline, Mickey glanced down to Ian and reached out to run his fingers through his hair. Ian sent him a quick smile and snuggled more into the bed. Mickey blew out a long steady hit while he eyed Ian's still bulging muscles. He looked like a renaissance painting the way he was lying on his side in all his perfect glory. But, then Mickey noticed something strange in the way Ian's eyes glazed over—as if he was off somewhere else.

“Think I'm gonna grab the laptop and put on a movie,” spoke Mickey, as he wondered if they both just needed sleep, badly.

Ian nodded his head, but said nothing.

As time ticked on, worry crawled up the back of Mickey's neck. He couldn't read Ian's expression, which was incredibly rare. Ian usually wore his emotions on his sleeve, even when he was obviously trying to guard them. But, his face seemed blank, with the flicker of some kind of emotion—something that made his eyes water. Mickey stressed himself, and worried his bottom lip, for a few minutes before he set his burning cigarette in the ashtray and slipped down the bed. He reached a hand out to the side of Ian's face to caress.

“What's going on in that dome?” questioned Mickey softly.

“A lot,” breathed Ian.

Mickey frowned and focused his attention on Ian's jawline as his thumb stroked it, back and forth. It took him a moment to ask the question that really scared him most.

“You regretting it?”

Ian's eyes grew instantly, his head shaking with urgency.

“No, no, that's not it. I think I'm just in shock.”

Mickey nodded, but still needed more. He didn't want to interrogate Ian, but he couldn't relax in this situation.

“What'ya thinking?”

“I, uh, just can't believe I never have to go back. I can't believe I'm finally done.”

Ian then rolled onto his back, looking to the ceiling, and Mickey pulled his hand away. He swallowed roughly as he watched Ian's eyes swell with more tears, as if saying it out loud had broken the dam.

“It just hit me even harder, because normally this is the time of the night when I have to think about getting back on time.”

How could the same truth hit harder and harder and harder? Mickey wondered as his own chest tightened with emotions garnered from the fact. This was real. This would be their new normal; spending the entirety of weekends together. Which could eventually turn into every single night.

“And I'm trying not to stress out about everything that comes next, but...” continued Ian, “Really, I'm just so fucking _relieved_.”

Ian went on to smile brightly, turning his wet gaze to Mickey in time for a tear to break free and race down the side of his head. Mickey smiled softly and nodded before moving in close enough to press a kiss to Ian's forehead. He used the back of his finger to wipe away the trail left by the tear.

Ian took hold of his head with both hands and pulled his face in close to his own. Mickey shut his eyes, letting his forehead rest on Ian's for a moment.

“I'm so happy I've got you,” whispered Ian passionately, “It would've taken me a lot longer without you.”

Mickey squirmed under the bliss he felt radiating throughout his body. He couldn't stand the thought of Ian being stuck in that situation for so long. And he was extra pleased to be part of his escape.

“With or without me, you didn't deserve that shit,” returned Mickey.

He felt Ian inhale, heard him start and immediately stop himself from speaking.

“I...”

The hairs on Mickey's arms promptly stood and he pulled away enough to look into Ian's eyes, which were swimming with even more emotion than before. A long moment unfolded as they stared at one another. Mickey knew. He knew exactly what Ian was going to say. Despite the overwhelming feelings the thought alone elicited, he _wanted_ to hear it.

But, instead Ian expressed it through a kiss. A firm, drawn out kiss that scorched Mickey's insides. He felt like he was being inhaled, and he craved it. He wanted to melt right into Ian.

 

**

The next morning Ian awoke to the sound of Mickey's voice; exhausted and stretched out.

“What the fuck?” he groaned tiredly, loudly.

Another sound was echoing throughout the room. The repetitious ringing of a phone. He felt the bed move a bit, but still kept his sleep-filled eyes shut. Until the ringing stopped and Mickey spoke again.

“Gallagher,” sighed Mickey, “Why the fuck is your brother calling my phone so early on a god damn Saturday morning?”

Ian scrunched his brow, working hard through his sleepy haze to understand the situation. When he finally opened his eyes he saw Mickey on his back, with his phone laying on his bare chest. His eyes were shut, and his facial expression was comically irritable.

“What?” murmured Ian. He paused to clear his throat. “Lip called you?”

“Twice—“

Mickey's phone began to ring again, lighting up the skin below it, and Mickey's eyes shot open with flames. Ian watched as Mickey accepted the call, putting the device to his ear as he sat up.

“What?” barked Mickey into the phone.

Ian could barely hear Lip's voice, but managed to understand, “Trying to get a hold of Ian...Not answering his phone...”

“Yeah, maybe cause it's the ass-crack of fuckin' dawn and we're sleepin',” snapped Mickey.

Ian started to smile, unable to bite back his amusement, and sat up beside Mickey. He offered a hand to him, wiggling his fingers. Mickey glanced at him, before handing the phone over—not caring that Lip was in the middle of saying something. Ian gave Mickey a tired smile and leaned close enough to press a kiss to his pouting lips.

“Sorry,” whispered Ian, before putting the phone to his ear.

Mickey's irritability dissolved a bit before he dropped back down onto his pillow, groaning like an old man.

“Hello? Jesus, Mickey, are you still there or not?” Lip spoke into the phone.

“Hey, it's me,” said Ian, “What's going on?”

Lip made an annoyed sound, clearly unhappy he would have to repeat himself.

“I'm trying to drink coffee and your fucking husband won't stop banging on the front door.”

Ian's heart plummeted into his stomach.

“John's there?” questioned Ian breathlessly.

Mickey slowly sat up to look at him with concern. Ian frowned.

“Yes! I told him to leave and he won't. So, either I'm gonna kick his ass or you're going to call him off.”

“Fuck,” exhaled Ian, rising from the bed. His phone was in his coat by the front door. He quickly reapplied his discarded underwear and made his way there asking, “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you're not here and he won't believe me. He said he's not leaving until he sees you.”

Ian swore again, then again, as he fished his phone out of his coat pocket. He had both missed calls and texts from John.

Mickey walked into the dining room and grumbled, “Fucking horseshit.”

Ian grimaced at him and Mickey just sighed and headed into the kitchen.

“Alright,” breathed Ian into the phone, “Sorry about this, Lip. I'll try calling him.”

“Knew he wouldn't go down without being an annoying asshole.”

Ian snorted. “I'm sure he's going to be that way for a while, unfortunately. I'll talk to ya in a bit.”

“Good luck,” said Lip, before hanging up.

Ian sighed heavily and dropped into one of the chairs at the dining room table.

“Tell him you're gonna call the cops,” suggested Mickey from the kitchen, “He don't know they won't show up for domestics in that neighborhood.”

Ian let out a laugh and replied, “Good idea.”

Pushing through the immeasurable discomfort, and without a real plan, Ian dialed John's number. It didn't take long for him to answer.

“Ian?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“What the hell are you doing? Come downstairs, I'm freezing on the porch.”

“I'm not there.”

There was a pause, which swelled with growing tension, and Ian knew this was not going to end well.

“You're not here?” repeated John, “Then where the fuck are you?”

“Not there,” returned Ian dully.

He momentarily got distracted by the mug of steaming coffee Mickey set in front of him. Ian sent him a grateful look, which wasn't even enough when Mickey also slid a pack of cigarettes over to him. Ian quickly fished one out of the pack.

“You said you were moving back in here.”

“Yeah, and I did. I'm just not there right now.”

“What, are you not going to tell me where you are?

“It doesn't matter.”

“Oh, I see, so you think that—“ began John before Ian cut him off, loudly speaking over him.

“Stop—Look, it doesn't fucking matter! You need to leave my family alone,” stated Ian firmly, “There's no reason for you to be on our porch, early ass in the morning, demanding to see me. I already told you that we're done. The whole thing is over, John.”

“No, no,” snapped John, “You don't get to just do that.”

“Uhh, yeah, I fucking do. I'm done, that's that.”

Ian quickly lit his cigarette. This was going to keep escalating, as usual.

“No, you listen, I let you have your little tantrum. I gave you space. Now, we're going to talk about it.”

Ian locked his jaw as the flickering fire in his chest spilled over into surrounding weeds and took off like a wild fire. It was way too early for this shit.

He turned his attention to Mickey as he also took a seat at the table with a mug of coffee. Ian shook his head at him and Mickey frowned.

“Ian,” started John, “We have to talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about, John. Nothing. I already told you that.”

“Oh? So you think you can just run off after everything?”

“Jesus,” groaned Ian. “We had an arrangement. A deal. I'm done with it, the end. That's it.”

“Where are you right now?”

“What?”

“Where are you?”

“That's none of your fucking business.”

“You're still my husband, so, yeah, it is.”

“On paper, maybe. But, we're officially split up, so, no, it's not,” rebuked Ian in the same condescending tone that John was using. “Arguing about this isn't getting us anywhere. I just wanted to call to tell you to leave my family alone.”

“Fine, I'll leave this shithole, but tell me where you are.”

“No.”

“Are you at your boyfriend's?”

Ian swallowed the truth down quickly and lied, “I don't have a boyfriend, John. I literally just left you yesterday.”

“So you just stayed over at a platonic friend's house?” questioned John skeptically, with a sarcastic scoff at the end.

“You know what?” began Ian, pausing to draw a long hit from his cigarette and sit forward, as if he was getting in John's face—as if he was right in front of him. “Maybe you should consider that I stayed at a stranger's house, huh? Maybe I wanted to finally have my dick sucked for the first time in two years.”

“Wow, Ian,” returned John loudly in his ear, while Mickey looked on at him with wide eyes, “Maybe you've forgotten what was written in the premarital agreement, but infidelity was—“

“I'm divorcing you, asshole,” yelled Ian, “That one-sided prenup bullshit was never going to leave me with anything! I only followed your rules to keep a steady paycheck and I'm fucking done, now, so guess what? I get to do whatever, and whoever, the fuck I want, now.”

“You're such a fucking ungrateful little—“

Ian ended the call with shaking hands and tossed the phone onto the table. He angrily drew a drag from his cigarette, feeling the tension that radiated through his whole body. And it wasn't five seconds later that it began to ring, brightly displaying John's name.

Before Ian could do anything, Mickey reached over and snatched the phone to dismiss the call. And he then proceeded to hold down the power button until he could shut it off.

“That's enough of that shit for today,” breathed Mickey as he set the phone back down on the table.

Ian frowned as he watched Mickey rub at his tired eyes and sigh, again.

“Sorry, Mickey,” spoke Ian, causing Mickey to look at him. “There's probably going to be a lot more bullshit like that for a while.”

Mickey made a face at him before reaching out for the cigarettes as he spoke, “Who gives a shit? We can all just ignore him. All that matters is that you're free.”

Ian smiled softly, lowering his gaze to his mug of coffee. Just being reminded of his freedom calmed the fire in his chest. He just had to get that divorce and it would really be over.

“I think I'm going to get a restraining order as soon as the divorce is finalized,” admitted Ian. He'd thought about it a few times already, knowing how persistent John was. “I don't think he's going to leave me alone for a long time.”

“Yeah,” huffed Mickey, “You're probably the first person to ever actually say no to him.”

“Probably,” murmured Ian, raising his coffee to sip.

Ian was just starting to get lost in thoughts of finding a good divorce lawyer when he noticed Mickey staring at him. He smiled a bit, about to ask what was on his mind when Mickey spoke.

“So, uh,” Mickey paused to blow out a hit of smoke, “Was that true?”

“What?” asked Ian, genuinely confused.

“He really never...” Mickey trailed off, dropping his gaze to Ian's lap. He nodded his head towards it and Ian caught on.

“The thing about blowjobs?”

“Yeah.”

“It was true,” nodded Ian, which seemed to surprise Mickey, so he explained, “It felt too intimate. I didn't want him to do it, so it was one of _my_ rules.”

A quiet moment passed as they stared at one another. Ian's eyes fixated on the tip of Mickey's tongue, which danced back and forth across his lip.

“So, I was the first person to do that to you in two years?”

A large smile slowly spread across Ian's face and he let out a bashful laugh.

“Yeah, you were.”

“Jesus. No wonder you were losing your damn mind.”

“I was losing my mind because it was amazing,” countered Ian, letting his grin turn to a wry smirk.

Mickey smiled in return, nodding his head, and hit his cigarette again.

“Well, how bout you let me finish my coffee and then go sit your ass on the couch?”

That seemed out of nowhere and Ian tried not to let his imagination run away from him.

“And why am I going to sit on the couch?”

“Living room carpet'll feel better on my knees,” stated Mickey with a flirtatious tilt of his head, letting his beautiful eyes flicker down Ian a few times.

Ian felt his face heat up quickly as he again laughed bashfully. Mickey was smiling at him confidently, clearly enjoying himself and what he did to Ian.

“In the meantime, you can use my phone all ya want to contact Lip.”

As Mickey slid his phone across the table to him, Ian felt the need to express his love, again. He was drowning in it; just how real and true his feelings were. He had never imagined this sort of situation before when he had first started daydreaming about leaving John, but here it was. The most pleasant of surprises. He was part of a team. And if he ever trusted anyone's capabilities, it was that of Mickey Milkovich. The ultimate partner.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take a bit to finish since it should be pretty hefty and I don't have much of it written yet. So, hang in there in the meantime! :)


	24. The Beauty of You Gives Me My Fortitude

Most nights during the following week had Ian calling Mickey to rant about John's constant attempts to reach him. He had even gone as far as showing up at Ian's job on Wednesday.

However, on the next Friday Ian experienced the first of many attacks when he attempted to buy takeout for them with a credit card he was conditioned to using. John had obviously canceled both credit cards in his possession. It wasn't too big of a deal, clearly, as Ian shrugged it off. He was unashamedly honest about still only using them to spite John and take advantage while he still could.

But, Sunday night left him raging in Mickey's bedroom. He had clearly been dragging his feet over leaving and returning to the Gallagher house; then he received an e-mail.

Mickey had been snuggled into his bed, on his side, with Ian continuously running his fingers through his hair, stating that he wouldn't leave until Mickey fell asleep. His fingers stilled very abruptly, which had Mickey opening his eyes. It was quiet as Ian pulled his fingers away, but the atmosphere had unmistakably changed. Mickey waited another moment before mumbling, “Did your arm get tired?”

“He got me fired,” spoke Ian breathlessly.

Mickey quickly sat up and looked at Ian, who was glaring down at his phone.

“What?”

“I just got an e-mail from my boss saying some bullshit about how they don't need me anymore, because they're hiring the temp on full-time,” explained Ian, “I fucking knew John would do this, but I thought maybe he would give me a _little more_ time than just a week. He probably convinced him to fire me when he came in on Wednesday. John's got that dude twisted around his god damn finger.”

“Assholes stick to together.”

Ian huffed, “No shit.”

Ian's thumbs suddenly started sliding around the screen and Mickey couldn't contain his curiosity as he inched closer and leaned to see what he was doing.

He was typing out a message for John, with a screenshot of the e-mail attached.

 **Ian:** _Are you fucking kidding me?? You're even more pathetic and cruel than I thought if you think this is going to make me come running back to you._

Mickey raised his brows at the message, nodding a bit in agreement, then leaned over to the nightstand to grab a cigarette. He lit it and held it out for Ian, who basically stole it as he stood up out of bed.

Mickey frowned as he watched Ian begin to pace the room, staring hard at his phone while he continuously puffed on the cigarette.

“I mean, you did expect this shit,” offered Mickey.

“Yeah,” rasped Ian, “I thought I'd be prepared, but I'm still pissed off. He just took away my income.”

Before Mickey could respond Ian froze mid-step, his gaze honing that much more on his phone screen. He waited a moment before blurting, “What'd he say?”

“ _I don't know what you're talking about, but you were barely working there anyways_ ,” read Ian with a scoff to finish.

Ian's thumbs started moving on the screen and again Mickey's curiosity had him opening his mouth.

“What're you sayin'?”

“Don't act like you had nothing to do with this,” read Ian as he typed, “You canceled my cards then had me fired.”

It wasn't two minutes later that another message came in.

“You're the one who made this choice. Don't whine to me, unless you want to apologize.”

Ian forcefully blew out a loud breath through his nose, looking like a bull about to charge. Mickey quickly stood up and moved to where Ian was, grabbing the phone from his hands to toss it on the bed.

“Alright, first of all, fuck that guy. This only proves he's _that_ shitty of a person,” spat Mickey, “And second, don't give him the attention his dumbass is clearly begging for. We'll figure this shit out.”

“I just don't know...” Ian trailed off, shaking his head. Mickey frowned and set a gentle hand on Ian's arm, luring his blazing green eyes to him. Ian frowned and explained, “I bit my tongue for so long. I don't have to anymore, so I don't know if I can hold myself back from just going to his condo and beating the shit out of him.”

“Hey, man, you get the keys and I'll grab my coat.”

Ian snorted, a hint of a smile ghosting his face.

“I mean it,” smiled Mickey, “We'll swing by a store on the way and buy some ski masks.”

Ian's smile broke free and he shook his head in amusement. Mickey continued.

“We can slash his tires on the way out.”

“You've given this some thought, huh?” spoke Ian as his mouth quirked higher on one side.

Mickey raised his brows at him, letting out a short laugh, “Uh, probably too fucking much. You wanna hear what other shit I've thought of? It's a pretty long list. You know what? It's probably better if you just sit down before I start.”

Ian laughed openly, happily. He turned more to face Mickey and looked down between them as his fingertips ran along Mickey's left hand. Mickey let his eyes wander Ian's face for a moment, before he continued, “I'm sure you'll find a new job in no time, but maybe you should just not think about it for this week, huh?”

Ian raised his gaze back to his curiously. “Like, not even look for a job? But, I can't slack—“

“Look at how stressed you're already getting,” interjected Mickey, “That's what the fuck I'm talking bout. Just take this week off and next weekend I'll go through the classifieds with you, alright? You can afford one week.”

Ian frowned and looked away, his jaw visibly worked to keep more arguments at bay. Mickey pulled in a breath laced with sympathy and spoke a little more gently.

“I just know you like to carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders until someone tells you to set some of it down. We can figure all this shit out together. Don't gotta suffer alone anymore, right?”

Ian's gaze softened significantly as he then looked at Mickey lovingly. He was quiet, with no more tension or argument firing in his wide-awake eyes that twitched back and forth as they looked over Mickey's; as if they were searching for something in Mickey's sincere baby-blues.

“I just thought of a good way to get back at John,” said Ian with a nod of his head.

“Oh?” Mickey raised his brows and leaned back a bit, “What're we gonna do?”

“Make-out for another hour in your bed,” smirked Ian with a flirtatious dance of his eyebrows.

Mickey grinned at him and gave him a short shrug in response. “I mean, if that's what we gotta do.”

 

 

**

John quieted down for the next week, which was admittedly unnerving to Ian. He considered that he was giving Ian some space to calm down, but also he couldn't help wondering what John's next move was. He was far from done.

Ian had tried for the first two days to follow Mickey's suggestion, however, the very real panic of letting his savings dwindle caught up to him quickly. He spent all of Tuesday evening searching for jobs online. Mickey had simply laughed into the receiver when Ian had confessed over the phone that night.

“I promise I won't get worked up over it, but there's no harm in sending my resume to a few companies now,” spoke Ian, with his gaze pinned tightly to the laptop screen in front of him.

He was sitting up in bed in his small room at the Gallagher house. The worn, lumpy mattress below him seemed to be an extra annoying adjustment he had to make every Sunday night. It was just one more thing he hadn't realized he'd taken advantage of the last couple of years. He had only slept on new, expensive mattresses that had been good on his back. Even the couch at the condo had been more supportive than the floral patterned mattress below him; which was definitely older than he was.

And Mickey's bed was straight up ruining _all_ other beds for him. Not only was it perfectly comfortable, and always cool, but it smelled like Mickey. Every week night when Ian closed his eyes to sleep his mind would drift to Mickey's bed, like a strange addiction haunting him.

He grew a desire to ask Mickey to stay the night every now and then. He knew Mickey wouldn't be bothered by the conditions of the Gallagher house, and now that they had the freedom to do so, he wanted him around more often. He'd hoped that Mickey felt the same and would bring it up first, but he hadn't yet.

“Alright,” drawled Mickey deeply. “Find anything good yet?”

“There's a shit ton of secretarial jobs available downtown, but most are full time. I found a few part time options, but I'll have to talk to them about my school schedule to make sure it works. So, we'll see.”

“I could call my old boss and see if he's got anything available?” suggested Mickey, which had Ian tilting his head and looking off to the bare wall on the other side of the room.

“Would that get back to John? I mean, they're in the same circles, right?”

Mickey snorted. “Not really. My old boss is a small fuckin' fish. I doubt John would associate with him in any way.”

Ian's expression quirked in an annoyed agreement before he paused to think over the option.

“Maybe we'll keep that as a last resort?”

“Sure, whatever,” murmured Mickey.

Ian smiled at the obvious display of insecurity and warmly spoke, “Thanks, Mickey. You really got my back.”

“Told you I'll help however, man.”

Ian slid down the wall more to slouch against his pillow. He again wished Mickey was in his bed. He longed to look into his eyes. The ache it gave him was the push needed to make his suggestion.

“Hey, so I was thinking. You could stay over here on a week night sometime, if you want? I mean, Liam and I are downtown every morning, anyways, so I can just drop you at work.”

“You sure it's cool if I hang out there?”

Ian made a face. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“I dunno, what if John shows up?”

Ian honestly hadn't even considered that.

“Oh. I don't really see that happening. He's scared shitless in this neighborhood. And even if he did show up, we wouldn't let him inside.”

Mickey hummed lightly into the phone. “Alright, how about tomorrow?”

Ian's heart jumped. He smiled unabashedly down at his lap, and knew his joy slipped into his tone as he replied, “Sounds good to me.”

 

*

There was a lot of driving the following day, but it was entirely worth it. To take Liam to school and drive home in the morning, then pick Liam up and drop him home, only to go back to the downtown area two hours later to pick Mickey up from his apartment. He climbed into the car with a shopping bag stuffed with clothes, which Ian immediately raised his brows at.

“What?” scowled Mickey, “I don't have a fancy overnight bag, like _some people_.”

Ian laughed, “Not even a backpack or anything?”

“No. Never had anywhere to stay over, or whatever.”

Ian gave the bag another glance, spying a button-up and clean pair of boxers. As he pulled away from the curb he offered, “We can throw your shirt in the dryer to get the wrinkles out.”

Mickey snorted. “Like I give a shit. What, are they gonna fire me for being wrinkly?”

Ian laughed.

They talked about their days during the drive, which was everything Ian had ever wanted. Someday, he told himself, they could have this every single day. Someday they would be free to explore normality to the fullest. Everything felt so right and secure with Mickey that he had already made up his mind that they would be living together in the nearest future possible. And it didn't scare him, it only made him feel warm and hopeful.

Walking up to the Gallagher house, he noticed Mickey's eyes darting up and down the streets, his shoulders were visibly tense. Ian wondered if it was from paranoia over John, or from a dark childhood in the very same neighborhood. Either way, he thought it best not to question Mickey on what was going on inside his head.

“Bet you wish you had a garage to hide that nice ass car in,” noted Mickey as they climbed the steps to the front door.

“No shit,” huffed Ian, “If it's taken, now, I don't even want to deal with the hassle of the insurance company and John's bullshit.”

They unloaded their coats and cold shoes before moving into the living room, where the television had been left on and abandoned, given no one was in the room and yet it was still blaring away. But, Ian was too preoccupied to even care.

“We can take your nice ass overnight bag upstairs to my room if you want,” smirked Ian, leaning just a bit closer to Mickey, who gave him a glare in return.

“Yeah, alright, smartass,” returned Mickey, swinging his plastic bag to hit Ian in the chest.

Ian laughed and turned to move upstairs.

He expected the tinge of insecurity he felt as they moved into his minimal bedroom, and yet he couldn't stop himself from feeling it, let alone voicing it.

“Sorry it's not much,” murmured Ian as he shut the door behind them.

Mickey scoffed and casually tossed his bag onto the floor, the sound of either his deodorant or toothbrush hitting the floor didn't seem to bother him. “You should see the room I grew up in.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah, I used to share a room with Lip, Carl, _and Liam_.”

“Jesus, talk about no privacy.”

“Right?” chuckled Ian, “I only have this room since almost everyone is gone, now. I thought about getting some furniture, but, you know, it's kinda low on my list of priorities.”

Mickey let out a laugh and turned towards him. Ian's heart raced as Mickey invaded his space with unexpectedly twinkling eyes that were displaying the obvious wheels turning in his mind. His mischievous tongue danced along the corner of his lips as he looked Ian over, before reaching out for his hip to pull him closer. Ian couldn't stop himself from grinning as he was pulled in snugly to Mickey's ever-warm body.

“All we really need is a bed, right?” said Mickey, soft and low, as his hand wandered up Ian's neck to the back of his head.

Ian nodded, his eyes falling shut as he felt Mickey beckoning him towards his lips.

They fell onto the bed and into each other soon after, losing themselves in a way they never struggled to do. And Ian certainly had no qualms about the bed while lying on top of Mickey, thrusting himself between his thick legs that were pinned up by his shoulders. And neither complained about it while basking in the afterglow.

The slight chill in the air had Ian throwing on a pair of sweats once their stomachs were growling for food, while Mickey headed for the door in nothing but his boxers and undershirt. They found the kitchen dark and unexpectedly empty. Ian furrowed his brow, pausing at the bottom of the steps before moving to flip on the lights.

Mickey headed into the small bathroom the second he spotted it, so Ian pulled his phone from his pocket to text Liam.

 **Ian:** _Where you at?_

While waiting for a reply he opened the fridge to seek out something to eat. The only leftovers were in small containers that certainly wouldn't feed both of them. His phone buzzed, sidetracking him. He ended up leaning against the counter behind him as he texted his younger brother.

 **Liam:** _Hanging at Jeremy's remember?_

 **Ian:** _Oh shit I forgot sorry lol His mom giving you a ride home or do you need me to get you?_

 **Liam:** _His mom said she doesn't mind bringing me home after dinner_

 **Ian:** _Cool :) Do you know where Lip is?_

 **Liam:** _On a date_

Mickey rejoined him in the kitchen and walked to his side, curiously looking around the room, while Ian fired off one last text.

 **Ian:** _kk ttyl_

“So, here's a nice surprise,” smiled Ian, putting his phone down to settle his attention on Mickey, “Looks like we've got the place to ourselves.”

“Obviously didn't matter if we did or not, right?” returned Mickey with a knowing smile.

Ian laughed, reflecting on their not so quiet time spent up in his room and shrugged.

“Good point.”

“I mean, unless you're plannin' on bending me over the counter,” continued Mickey with a suggestive look and a tilt of his head that was inquisitive.

Ian grinned, quirking a contemplative brow, while feeling his insides warming at the suggestion. He reached out to Mickey to pull him into his body. “Well, that's not a bad idea,” purred Ian, leaning down to press a kiss to Mickey's neck.

“You're gonna have to feed me first.”

“Uhh,” laughed Ian, “Yeah, about that...There's not a lot of food in the fridge. I can make you a bologna sandwich?”

Mickey snorted in amusement and pulled away. “I've eaten worse.”

They settled on fried bologna sandwiches and borderline-stale chips, which they ate in front of the tv. Liam came home and silently joined them on the couch for an hour or two, while they other two made commentary about the reality show they had ended up on.

Soon, Ian was checking that Liam had a clean uniform for the morning, and shutting off lights. They said goodnight to Liam at the top of the stairs before heading back to Ian's room to sleep. And it was just as Ian had been imagining, cuddling up to Mickey in his bed; infinitely better just having Mickey there to hold on to. He was soaking in his warmth, touching his soft skin, inhaling every distinct scent that came off of him with each breath he took. It only took minutes to relax enough to feel sleepy.

“Gallagher,” spoke Mickey deeply, unexpectedly.

“Hm?”

“Your bed sucks.”

Ian let out a quiet laugh, grinning at the acknowledgment of his usual discomfort.

“I don't know, I think it's more comfortable than usual tonight,” murmured Ian, squeezing Mickey a little closer in his arms.

“There's a spring stabbing into my arm,” complained Mickey.

Ian moved away, back a good foot or so, then wrapped his arm back around Mickey's body to yank him across the bed and tight into his body once again. Mickey didn't whine about this, and simply brought the pillow he was using over to his new spot.

“Better?” whispered Ian, into the back of Mickey's neck.

“Mhm,” hummed Mickey sleepily, pressing back into Ian until they were fitting together snugly.

*

The hazy morning light was peeking in from the flimsy chiffon curtain that barely covered the window when Ian awoke. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and curled in tighter to Mickey. He felt Mickey's arm lifting and listened as he grumbled, “The fuck time is it?”

“Too early,” answered Ian quietly.

And yet he felt Mickey moving, stretching away from him a bit, so Ian pried his eyes open to look. Mickey had his phone in hand, scrolling through a short list of notifications. His half-lidded eyes were focused on the phone in such a lazy way that only added to the adorableness of his tired state. Ian smiled a bit as he looked over the strands of hair that were falling onto Mickey's forehead, the lines in his scrunched forehead, the subtle pout of his lips. He could resist for _only_ a moment longer, before shifting to press a few warm, indolent kisses to the side of Mickey's face.

Mickey's only response was a long audible breath accompanied by fingertips that danced along Ian's hair.

Ian's mind went blank, goose bumps arose, and he felt like melting chocolate as he slid along Mickey's every curve and line; dragging his lips and fingers purposefully down his flesh until he disappeared under the blanket. He stopped himself only when he reached Mickey's beautiful, fit calves. While he turned his head to praise his leg with wide, but firm kisses, his hands moved up Mickey's thighs, pressing in tighter and tighter as he neared his hips.

He continued this indulgent adoration, moving up and down his body, slowly, even long after Mickey began to release soft moans; long after they were both obviously aroused.

When he did finally beckon pleasure from Mickey, in movements just as slow with his numb lips, it didn't take long, at all. That only stirred a more intense satisfaction in Ian that had him coming in his own hand between him and the bed; his ears honed into the melodic sounds of Mickey softly whimpering and brokenly breathing through it. He was traveling back up his body when Mickey sighed contentedly through his nose. When he emerged from the blanket he found Mickey's eyes closed with his head turned on the pillow.

Ian let forth a moan as he dragged his nose up the top of Mickey's chest to his silky neck. He returned to leaving languid kisses against Mickey's skin. He truly loved what Mickey did to his senses so early in the morning. It was organic—pure pleasurable stimulation in a continuously gentle way.

Mickey's hand caressed Ian's back, even as he otherwise remained motionless. He released another satisfied sigh before speaking, “Need to shower.”

Ian dragged his bottom lip up to Mickey's jawline, before giving him one last kiss.

“I'll join you,” spoke Ian, as he pulled away to look down at him.

Mickey strained to open his eyes entirely for a moment, while he turned his head to look at him. He rubbed at them, nodding his head. But, then proceeded to point out, “Can't be hanging out for an hour in there, though.”

“Why not?” questioned Ian innocently with a growing smile.

Mickey laughed softly. “Not tryin'a dick around. Gotta get to work eventually.”

“Ah, we got time,” returned Ian playfully, “And, you know, _our_ tank is actually pretty big.”

Mickey furrowed his brows and looked Ian's face over with suspicion.

“What'd ya guys steal it?”

“Uh,” laughed Ian. “Yeah, actually.”

Mickey laughed more boisterously while Ian grinned sheepishly at him. Mickey's gaze morphed to unexpectedly loving, as if that admission only summoned what he felt for Ian. The following rewarding and slow kiss he gave Ian seemed to confirm as much.

Ian really didn't miss the days when he had to fight for the upstairs bathroom every morning. It was much easier, now, to get in a nice long shower in the morning time. The upstairs was entirely quiet as they both made their way to the bathroom to groom themselves. They brushed their teeth at the same time, staring and making faces at one another in the mirror, then climbed into the shower. While Mickey seemed to lose himself to the feel of the hot water, closing his eyes and groaning, Ian couldn't pull his eyes from Mickey, even when he was directly under the spray of steaming water.

Mickey was smiling under the spotlight of attention, even when he wasn't looking at Ian in return, which simply kept Ian's interest that much more.

“Which ones should I use?” questioned Mickey, motioning to all the bottles of shampoo and soap that lined the edges of the tub.

Ian reached for his combo two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, and made sure to move in nice and close to Mickey in the process. He popped open the lid and squeezed some into his palm before squirting more than necessary directly onto the top of Mickey's head. Mickey quickly reached his hands up to catch what was running down the sides of his head and laughed.

“Yeah, thanks,” he huffed sarcastically.

Ian simply laughed in return as he worked his throughout his hair. He watched Mickey lather up his own hair, until Mickey spoke, “Starin' pretty hard this mornin', Gallagher.”

Ian paused and considered it for a moment while he stepped back to rinse his hair, before trying to remain as casual as possible when he admitted, “I think I just can't believe you're here. It's still kinda setting in that we just get to be together whenever we want now, you know?”

Mickey smiled warmly at him and nodded as he moved into Ian's space. They both placed hands on one another, as if they couldn't ever resist.

“Know what ya mean,” spoke Mickey, while he turned them, moving Ian out of the water and himself into it, “Everything started off real fuckin' weird, so this normal shit is...”

“Unbelievable?” suggested Ian.

Mickey nodded in agreement while he ran his fingers through his hair, rinsing the last of the suds away.

Ian moved to get his body wash for them, continuing, “Just imagine when I'm actually divorced and we can go out on real dates.”

As he handed the bottle of body wash off to Mickey he noticed a scowl on his face and questioned it.

“ _Real_ dates? What, you don't count our dates as real?”

Ian chuckled. “No, I mean, like going to a movie, or going out to eat, or whatever. You know, being seen.”

“So it's not a real date if we aren't seen by hundreds of strangers?”

“You're getting pretty defensive of our dates,” laughed Ian, admittedly soaking it up.

“Well, they've still been _real_ , thank you very much,” returned Mickey, “Just nobody's fuckin' business.”

“Maybe I wanna show you off a little.”

Even if Mickey was preoccupied with lathering the body wash down his body, Ian didn't miss the way his face reddened from those words.

“Fuckin' weird,” murmured Mickey quietly, and Ian only grinned and shook his head to himself.

He moved into the water to rinse himself first, but almost immediately reached for Mickey and pulled him in close until they were both being sprayed. He moved his hands around Mickey's skin, gathering water to places that the shower head wasn't reaching, and just enjoying the silky feel of it. Mickey's bright eyes were pinned to his face, however, and stole his attention. And though neither of them spoke aloud, they were screaming at each other. Screaming attraction and joy and need—beckoning one another. They both smiled knowingly as they moved closer, leaning in equally to kiss.

The added sensations of the hot water running down their faces seemed to only encourage them to lose themselves that much more. Among the movements of their expressions it slipped across their lips, into their mouths, adding extra lubrication that made their kisses sloppier and less precise, which had Ian wrapping a big hand around the back of Mickey's head and pulling him in even tighter; until they were no longer mingling their lips, but sucking into each other deeper and deeper. Mickey's arms locked around Ian's body and all he could feel was their hardened, heated muscles melding together.

Unexpectedly, there was a quick knock on the door just before it was opened. They both froze for a moment, until the sound of the toilet seat being lifted and hitting the back of the toilet echoed out through the room. Ian and Mickey pulled away enough to look at each other with wide eyes as they listened to the sound of a steady stream of piss hitting the toilet bowl water.

“Uhh, hello?” spoke Ian with annoyance.

“Yeah, I'll be done in a minute,” returned Lip in a tired voice, along with the loud, harsh sound of the toilet seat being dropped back down.

Ian rolled his eyes while Mickey grimaced irritably and ran his hands through his soaking hair. They heard the squeak of the sink being turned on and off, so Ian moved to the other end of the tub to look out pass the shower curtain just as the sounds of Lip brushing his teeth filled the room.

“You really couldn't wait until we were done?” questioned Ian as he looked out at his brother, who was leaning on the sink while he scrubbed at his teeth. He had his eyes shut, as if he hadn't even woken up yet.

“Gotta get to work,” returned Lip grumpily through a mouth full of foam, “Had a long night.”

It was immediately following those words that Lip's eyes shot open as if the realization had smacked him in the back of the head. He promptly spit out his toothpaste and looked to Ian with confusion as he repeated, “Wait, _we_?”

“Yeah, _we_ ,” returned Mickey sharply, “Thanks for the privacy, asshole.”

“Oh shit,” laughed Lip, “Didn't know you were here, Mickey.”

Ian made a face and proceeded to wave his hand in a shooing motion at his brother, which had him flinging water drops towards him. Lip looked entirely amused as he leaned down to rinse his toothbrush and mouth. Ian gave him one more annoyed look and pulled the shower curtain closed.

Once Lip was gone and they were alone again, Ian breathed out, “Sorry.”

Mickey let out a quick laugh and moved out of the way, so Ian could get under the hot water again. “It's cool, we should probably get ready to go, anyhow.”

The mood was certainly killed by their interruption, which irritated Ian to no end, but Mickey was right. By the time they were both dried off and mostly dressed, they only had a half hour before they had to go.

With his plastic shopping bag in hand, Mickey followed Ian down to the kitchen. Lip was standing near the stove, sipping from a mug of coffee, while Liam was working on a bowl of cereal at the table. Ian stepped around Lip, who gave him a sly smile, and poured two cups of coffee. They didn't have any of the creamers or sweeteners like Mickey kept in his home, but he had a feeling Mickey wouldn't complain much about a little sugar and milk.

Mickey was sitting at the table reading something on his phone, with his suit jacket slung over the back of his chair. He looked entirely comfortable in their house, as if he had stayed over a hundred times. It was something Ian realized he loved about him; he was adaptable like no other.

“Thanks,” murmured Mickey as Ian set his mug in front of him, easing into the chair beside Mickey.

“We could stop and get those turnovers you like before I drop you off,” suggested Ian.

Mickey sent him a smile and set his phone down to reach for his coffee.

“I'm buyin',” returned Mickey into the mug.

Ian tilted his head and argued, “C'mon, Mick. I can still afford pastries.”

“Uhh, that's debatable,” said Mickey with a huff of amusement, “And anyhow, I wanna get some for Damon and Amy, so no arguing.”

“Alright,” drawled Ian reluctantly.

“Aren't you two just adorable,” chimed Lip sardonically.

“Shut up, ya fuckin' cockblock,” return Mickey over his shoulder.

Lip laughed. “Excuse me for using my own bathroom.”

“Which was already occupied,” quipped Ian.

“There's not usually couples showering together here anymore.”

“Well, get used to it,” grumbled Mickey.

Ian uncontrollably smiled and Mickey certainly noticed. He raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but smiled knowingly beneath it before he seemed to hide in his coffee mug.

 

 

*

Ian was cheerfully humming along with music on the radio as he parked outside of the building his classes were taking place. He was contemplating texting Mickey to ask him to stay over again, wondering if it would be too much or not, when an incoming call made his phone buzz in his hand. It wasn't a number he recognized, but that simply made his heart jump as he knew it could be about a job.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ian, this is Paul Dinkman,” returned a familiar voice.

Ian tried to keep himself from getting too excited, as this was one of the jobs he'd applied at. And he was already familiar with the man, which made him feel a little comfortable and hopeful.

“Oh, good morning,” returned Ian politely, “How are you? How's Cherise doing?”

“We're both doing fine, thanks. Well, she's about to pop, so she's actually a bit miserable.”

“That's right! Congratulations, again.”

“Thank you. We're certainly excited. Probably prepared a little too much.”

Ian chuckled and returned, “I don't know that's possible.”

Paul let out a laugh and agreed, “You're probably right about that.”

Everything seemed to be going smoothly and just for a moment Ian thought maybe, just maybe, the connections he'd made being John's husband would help his job search. However, Paul then addressed that very thing.

“Well, Ian, I'm calling because we received your resume.”

“Oh, awesome. I just need a little part time work to help out with some bills.”

“Ah, I see. Uhm,” Paul paused, and Ian's anxiety swelled, his smile falling away. “Look, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. Word got around about your separation.”

“I don't see what that has to do with anything.”

“John's made his desires known to most everyone.”

“What desires?”

“He doesn't want you working downtown.”

Ian scoffed. “And? What, everyone's just going to deny me work because _he_ wants that? You don't even do business with him, what could he do?”

“I'm sorry, Ian, but maintaining peace in this network is important to a lot of us.”

“What the hell does that even mean? It's not like he can damage you or your business.”

Paul sighed. “I know it isn't fair, but I thought I should give you the heads up. His family has a lot of influence, you know. They help with connections for a lot of us. You probably won't be hearing from a lot of people in this area.”

“You can't be serious!”

“This was just a courtesy call. I don't want to get in the middle of you two. I am sorry, but you're a resourceful kid, I'm sure you'll figure it out. Take care.”

Paul abruptly hung up, before Ian could argue his case anymore. It left him that much more frustrated. His emotions were raging and bottle-necking. He didn't know how he could possibly focus in class, now.

 

**

Mickey felt refreshed as he walked over to the security line. Starting a workday off with Ian the way he had was something new and incredible. He was entirely awake and ready to face it without an ounce of grumpiness to be found.

He spotted Damon ahead of him in line and greeted him with a smile and a nod. Damon waited for him outside of the elevators with a big smile on his own face.

“What's up with you?” chuckled Damon with a tightly knitted brow.

“What?” returned Mickey, coming to a stop directly in front of one of the elevators.

“You're in a good mood,” observed Damon, “It's weird.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but simply laughed, which seemed to make Damon look at him with even more suspicion.

They stepped into the elevator silently with another person joining them. It remained, borderline uncomfortably, quiet until that person exited on the third floor. However, when the doors closed and they were alone, Mickey couldn't really stop himself from speaking.

“Stayed over at Ian's last night,” he murmured, “It was alright.”

“ _Alright_ put you in such a good mood?” teased Damon.

Mickey caved, grinning, and looked at Damon as he conceded, “It was really good.”

Damon let out a laugh and gave him a sharp pat on the back.

“You're such a lil lovestruck pup.”

“Oh, fuck off,” chuckled Mickey as the elevator came to a stop and opened it's doors, “Or I won't give you the turnover I bought ya.”

As usual, it was John that dimmed any joy Mickey had inside. He was talking with Ellison and Amy near their line of desks. Mickey braced himself before heading to his desk.

“Everything alright?” inquired Damon as they approached.

Ellison nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, while John didn't even acknowledge him. Mickey and Damon exchanged looks while they moved into their divided areas. Mickey set the bag of pastries down to remove his coat and drape it over the back of his seat. He then removed the large cherry turnover he had purchased for Damon and handed it to him over the divider between them, causing Damon to let out an unnecessary groan of excitement. Amy was moving into his space like a hopeful puppy immediately after, with her hands going together in a begging motion.

“Did you get me anything?”

Mickey snorted in amusement and returned, “One of those puff pastry things.”

Amy let forth a short squeal in reply and snatched the bag before he could bother to hand it to her. She removed said pastry and leaned back against their divider, as if she would just remain in his cubicle to eat it. Mickey scowled at her, turning to face her completely, but her focus was on her food. And before he could say anything, she was speaking first.

“Why do you smell so good?” she asked, while she peeled the wax paper from her pastry.

“I always smell good,” argued Mickey.

“Well, yeah, okay, you do,” relented Amy with a tinge of impatience, “But, this is a different good.”

Mickey didn't get a chance to make up anything, considering he noticed John, who seemed to just be hovering, now, had turned enough to eye him. His nostrils flared and Mickey's gut clenched.

“She's right, you do smell good,” murmured John carefully.

Mickey's brain stuttered for a moment as paranoia swirled through it. He ultimately decided annoying John away would be the best course of action and let the risky words fumble out of his mouth, “Pretty sure that's sexual harassment, so maybe you two should be careful what you say.”

John rolled his eyes instantly and took a few steps away, however that's as far as he got before freezing up. Mickey's heart rate truly spiked as he watched John eye the pastry in Amy's hand. He looked over his shoulder and Mickey followed his gaze to the bag from the bakery sitting on his desk. There's no way he could connect it to Ian, or could he? Mickey really wondered when John's suspicious eyes jumped to him and narrowed just ever so slightly.

Mickey played it cool, carefully exhaling through his nose before lifting his brows high.

“Everything alright, Sir?”

John said nothing, but looked him over again before departing towards his office.

“That was weird,” mumbled Amy, as she glanced over her shoulder to John with a furrowed brow.

It was circumstantial, Mickey reasoned with himself. Even if John had recognized the scent of Ian's body wash, and even if he knew that bakery was just down the road from his condo, there's no way he could prove those two things had anything to do with an affair.

“ _He's_ weird,” returned Mickey while he pulled out his office chair.

Mickey felt his phone buzz from inside his pocket and pulled it out to find a text from Ian, but it was not the flirtatious type of message he usually got at work.

 **Ian:** _You will not believe wtf John did now_

Mickey frowned and settled into his seat, booting up his computer. He raised an eyebrow at Amy, who was nose deep into her pastry, and clearly in heaven. With a sigh he spoke, “You ever going to your own desk?”

Amy stared at him stubbornly for a moment while she chewed her food.

“How can you like me enough to bring me food, but never want to spend time with me?”

Mickey let out a laugh. “We're at work, shouldn't we work?”

Amy glanced down at his phone and dryly returned, “Right, _work_.”

He rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. She smirked, leaving him alone to focus on Ian's text.

 **Mickey:** _What? You ok?_

 **Ian:** _I just found out he's basically told everyone downtown not to hire me_

 **Ian:** _wtf am I supposed to do now??_

 **Mickey:** _What?! Everyone's going along with that shit?_

 **Ian:** _Apparently they don't want to disturb the peace or whatever the hell_

 **Ian:** _I'm so fucking mad I can't even go into class_

 **Mickey:** _Don't blame you. He's suck a fucking dickhead_

 **Ian:** _I'm gonna end up working as a janitor or something now_

 **Mickey:** _He can't know every single fucking person downtown. It'll be ok._

 **Ian:** _Yeah just thought the connections I made were gonna help. So stupid._

 **Mickey:** _I'll get a hold of my old boss and see what he says k?_

 **Ian:** _Yeah ok_

 **Ian:** _Thanks Mickey_

 **Mickey:** _You'll get through this_

 **Ian:** _I'm just so angry. I can't even try to see anything good working out right now_

Mickey frowned. He was aware that the sort of blind rage and defeatism Ian was feeling right now could spiral—could even trigger a mental exhaustion that would disrupt so much in his fight.

 **Mickey:** _He's just trying to make your life harder because he can't deal with rejection._

 **Mickey:** _But he ain't got all the control he thinks he does so fuck him_

 **Ian:** _You're right. Fucking asshole._

 **Mickey:** _Hey side note but where we going for our first public date? You taking me to like a fancy restaurant where I have to wear my suit or what?_

Ian's reply came a few minutes later, as if he needed a pause to shift his attention.

 **Ian:** _Idk I'd go anywhere with you lol Maybe a nice restaurant yeah :)_

 **Mickey:** _Alright then it's a date. The day you sign those papers we're gonna go out to eat._

 **Ian:** _The day I sign those papers we're gonna throw a fucking party haha_

 

 

**

Early Friday evening Ian was stepping out of the Gallagher house, to head to Mickey's for the weekend, when he found a surprise. John was climbing out of a black town car parked just in front of Ian's vehicle.

Ian paused on the porch, sucking in a deep breath of preparation. He then dropped the overnight bag from his right hand and slowly made his way down the steps as John approached their gate.

“What are you doing here, John?” asked Ian in exasperation. “And who's that?”

He nodded his head to the town car and John glanced back at it while he opened the gate and moved closer to Ian.

“That's just a chauffeur,” dismissed John. “He's armed, should I need protection.”

Ian blatantly rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“What do you want?”

John's eyes slipped behind Ian to the porch, and with a quick point he questioned, “Going on a little trip?”

“That's none of your business.”

John proceeded to slowly look Ian over, as if searching for some sort of evidence. Ian hated the way it made him feel like he was under a microscope. It was familiar, but he reminded himself of how things had changed. He no longer had to let himself cook under the light of judgment.

“Can't I just have one day without you disrupting my life? Just leave.”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night,” spoke John with an annoying sardonic smile. “Just give me the keys to my car.”

Ian was genuinely confused. “What?”

John hooked his thumb over his right shoulder, pointing out Ian's car, and said, “I want that back.”

Ian's mouth fell open in surprise. _His?_ John had never even driven it before.

“You serious?”

“Uhh, yeah,” returned John, and went as far as to hold out a hand, “Give me the keys back.”

“You're going to take away my transportation? That's my car, John.”

“It's in my name. Everything is. I want it back.”

Ian stared at John for a long moment, feeling his shock fizzling into rage. He tried to keep it tempered, so he could attempt to reason with the unreasonable man. John's hand slowly fell and instead slipped into his pocket while he gave Ian a passive-aggressive smile that made Ian take a few extra seconds to keep himself calm.

“I need the car to get Liam to school. My in-room classes still have another two weeks.”

“Not my problem. If you just want to drop me and pretend like we never existed, then you might as well be a stranger. And why would I help a stranger like that?”

“Wow, you're really an upstanding fucking person, aren't you? Don't act like I didn't please you enough for the car. I earned it.”

“You earned your income. The car is mine. I only let you use it out of the kindness of my heart.”

“The car was purchased for _me_. It shouldn't matter whose name is on it.”

“Don't think so? Maybe I should file a report with the police, you know, see what they have to say.”

Ian felt dizzy. He was lost. He'd never experienced any of this before, what was he supposed to do? Could he actually get in trouble for keeping the car? Like John said, his name wasn't on the title.

As if John could see the insecurities in him, he pressed, “You're the one with the record. Don't you think something like this might hinder your opportunities with social work?”

He was unbelievable. A complete and total asshole. Ian stared at him for a moment, trying to find even an ounce of humanity behind his eyes, but all he saw was arrogance. A cat holding a mouse beneath it's claws.

“You really can't wait until the divorce is finalized to take it?”

“Ian, believe me when I say this,” began John, entirely sincere in his delivery, “I could take a lot more from you. You're lucky I'm only taking back what I gave you. I can do worse, if you'd like.”

Something snapped loudly in Ian's head. He felt his hands tremble with rage.

“So this is how you're gonna play it, huh?” questioned Ian with a jump of his brows while he widened his stance. “What else you gonna take from me, huh? You want the fucking clothes I'm wearing, too?”

“I did pay for them,” challenged John.

Ian clenched his jaw, looking John up and down for a moment. He then moved closer towards him as he spoke, “You know what? You can have it all. In fact, this is the most pathetic attack you could use, because as you _frequently_ reminded me, I started from nothing. I grew up with nothing. I know how to survive with _nothing_.”

He could see the fight dimming from John's eyes. His expression was defeat for a second before a relentless stubborn look took it over. He even tilted his chin as Ian stopped a foot away from him.

“See what I realized recently is that working with nothing is better than spending even one more day with you in your home. So, go ahead, take whatever you want, I'll still be happy, because I won't have to look at you.”

Ian pulled the keys from his pocket, not taking his eyes off of John for even a second. He smirked a bit when he noticed that all the tension in the man's body seemed to be making him shake with anger. Ian lifted the keys to dangle in front of John's eyes for a moment before dropping them to the sidewalk. He then leaned in closer, until they breathed the same air. He planted his gaze on John's worried eyes and spoke quietly, but menacingly, "One of these days you're going to push me too far, and you're going to fucking regret it when I'm through with you."

The sound of a car door opening had them both glancing off to the town car, where John's protection had risen out of the driver's seat to stare at Ian with warning. Ian rolled his eyes back to John.

"Big scary man needs security," he mocked, "Fucking pathetic."

With those last words spat pointedly into John's face, he turned and headed back up the porch to disappear inside. But, he'd barely grabbed the door handle when John spoke one last time.

“ _You're_ the one who will regret all of this, mark my words.”

Ian paused and just for a moment considered yelling, cursing, and threatening John—hell, he imagined rushing back down the stairs to deck the dude in the face,  his security be damned. But, instead, he just continued inside, refusing to give John one more second of his attention.

Ian slammed the front door behind him and called Mickey the moment he stepped inside, watching through the curtains as John quickly hopped into the driver's seat of his car and sped off with the town car following closely behind.

“Are you fucking serious?” spat Mickey through the receiver, “But, it's yours.”

“He paid for it, it's in his name, so I don't know. I'm sure I can do something, since we're still married and all that, but jesus, that's just one more struggle with him. I don't know what to do.”

“I'll tell you what the fuck _we_ could do, we can have someone fuckin' jack it and sell it to a chop shop. Then you can use the money to buy a different car.”

Mickey being just as worked up about it, and clearly protective, did seem to redirect Ian's anger into a calming filter. It helped, as usual, knowing he wasn't alone.

“And someone's going to do that out of the kindness of their heart?”

“Yeah, okay, so they'll take a piece of the profit, but at least you could get _some kind_ of car. Or I could just do it.”

“I think you're getting a little too worked up, Mick,” returned Ian through a breathy laugh.

“Fuck that. I'd love to rob that motherfucker, believe me. I've thought about it a lot.”

“Me too,” returned Ian as he moved to sit on the couch. He felt so unbelievably tired, now.

Mickey sighed into the phone and asked, “So, how ya gonna get Liam to school?”

“Good old fashioned public transportation.”

“He's going to have to leave way earlier than he's used to.”

“Eh, he'll be fine. I would send him in a lyft or uber, but that shits going to add up fast and I gotta start saving as much money as possible, now. At least until I can find someone to fuckin' hire me.”

“Yeah.”

Admittedly, the thing that was currently plaguing Ian's mind most was the hindrance it would have on their time alone. Not having a car and limited funds was going to obstruct their amount of time spent with one another, if even just a little.

“I really need to start looking into a good _cheap_ divorce lawyer. I know he can't just take the car that I've been driving. Gotta find a lawyer to direct me—with fucking everything, so I can be done with this shit.”

“I'll help you look.”

“Thanks, Mick.” Ian sighed and his voice quieted a bit as he continued, “Honestly, I feel like there's been so much going on, I haven't even started looking into _how_ to divorce him. Like, I just want to move on without the hassle.”

“Don't beat yourself up about it.”

“Wish I was with you right now,” murmured Ian, “Now it's gonna take even longer to get over there.”

Mickey hummed and argued, “Not if I get you a lyft.”

“I can afford a lyft, Mickey.”

“Stop sayin' that shit. I know you can still afford things, tell your ego to shut up.”

Ian made a stubborn face down to the floor, realizing Mickey was seeing right through him.

“Ain't I like your boyfriend or whatever? I think I'm supposed to do shit like that.”

Ian instantly grinned openly, as he never expected to hear those words out of Mickey's mouth. His heart was racing as he returned, “ _Supposed to_? Mickey Milkovich really did conform, huh?”

“Fuck off,” returned Mickey through a laugh, “You can't manipulate me out'ta buyin' you shit.”

“You better get off the phone then and order me that lyft,” spoke Ian, still feeling a little high off of Mickey's title, “Don't want to be away from you for another minute.”

 


End file.
